


when it feels right

by leetlebird



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Back Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 14:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19428064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetlebird/pseuds/leetlebird
Summary: Alicia tucked her arm over his. “I’m sorry, I’m about four glasses deep now, ignore me. I’m just glad you’ve found your way back together after all this. How long have you been back together again, Kent?”He would regret this later, but that never stopped him in the moment. Jack pressed his hand up against the small of Kent’s back. Kent inhaled sharply, and Jack felt it again, that no-look one-timer, just the two of them against the world. No guarantee that Kent would be there, would be able to pick up on Jack’s signals without words, but the hope that he would.“I think it’s been a couple months now,” Kent said, and the pass connected.





	1. damn near perfect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coyotesuspect](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotesuspect/gifts).



> This one goes out to you, coyotesuspect <3.
> 
> Potential content warnings for dumb drinking choices, misogynistic language, and a lot of hand-waving at the normal limits of reality. Chapter titles come from songs that I will link in a playlist once authors are made public.
> 
> And now: Jack, Kent, and a fake relationship that they're not very good at.
> 
> **EDIT***  
> Playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4f7nn90k2x6lwAjWGUoTem).  
> Title from Feels Right by Carly Rae Jepsen, who btw stans JP more than anyone on this planet, duh. This first chapter title comes from Feelin' You by Daniel Skye.

Jack almost missed the moment when the charity gala’s staff began setting up the microphones again. He was distracted by the buzz of conversation around him and by the champagne. He was irritated that no one was talking to him, which he was just objective enough to recognize was a bit ridiculous. Generally, he didn’t like when people made small talk with him.

But it was the first time he’d had the chance to see Kent in person since Jack had left the league, and suddenly the first hour and a half of the gala that Kent had spent chatting with him didn’t matter. Because Kent was talking to some rich donors at their table, all charm, and Jack felt like he might as well be invisible. He felt jilted. 

So he almost missed it, that moment when the microphones came out again, but no matter how many years went by, he would always be the kind of person who couldn’t relax until the toasts and speeches were over. It would probably be impossible to sneak out without being noticed, especially since his parents had organized the event unofficially in his honor, but he couldn’t be in the same room as those microphones, as irrational as that was. Nobody cared that he was sitting there in silence, so he didn’t bother making his excuses. 

The halls outside were nearly empty, and he slipped into a windowed alcove. He pressed his back against the glass. It was cool, even through his shirt, but not quite enough to be calming.

 _I’m sorry,_ he thought about texting to his mother or father, but they had promised he wouldn’t need to stand up and say anything. Maybe he was just sorry for not trusting their word, for leaving anyway. For being rude. This was their foundation, practically their second child, and no matter how much Jack wished he hadn’t been the kind of son who had necessitated it, he appreciated the work they were doing to provide access to mental health services for others in the sports world. If they saw him leave --

“This is what you ditched me for? A window?” Kent was standing there. He must have followed Jack out. Jack didn’t know why he was surprised. “That’s brutal, Zimms.”

Jack teetered on the edge of shame, and the defensive irritability that would come with it, but these days Kent just felt welcome. “Yeah. I mean, it was getting about that time. Speeches and all.” 

Kent settled into the window ledge next to Jack. There wasn’t really enough room, but Jack didn’t mind it right now. “I liked the speech you made at the You Can Play thing a few years back. They’re not all bad. Not like --”

“If you bring up Hellman’s wedding I’ll kill you,” Jack said, and he didn’t have to look at Kent to know he was smiling. “I hadn’t seen any of those people since Juniors, they made me nervous.”

“They still thought you were cool, though,” Kent said. He bumped their shoulders together. “Bunch of dumbasses.”

Jack leaned his head back against the glass and closed his eyes. It felt good to be here, away from the expectations and the eyes in the ballroom. It even felt good to spend time alone with Kent, which he never would have believed even a year ago. But things were different now. They were different. 

“Jack,” Kent said. “Chill. It’s a joke, I’m not saying --”

Jack elbowed him. “We’re not fighting, Kent. Shh. Doesn’t it feel good to just….” He didn’t know what he was trying to say, really. “I’m glad you could make it.”

Kent was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I mean, you needed a date, right?”

Jack got up, stretched his back, and turned to face Kent specifically so that Kent could see him roll his eyes. He liked that he still knew what made Kent laugh, even if they hadn’t been friends again for long, even if most of their communication was still through their phones. “Shut up, Parse. Should we head back?”

Kent stretched lazily, not standing up yet. All these years, and he still looked strange and uncomfortable in a suit. Jack was so happy to see him again, it was almost distracting. “I guess. They’ll be missing me.”

They snuck back in together. The speeches seemed like they were still winding down, so it was kind of rude to be walking around anyway. Kent ignored Jack’s motioning to go straight back to the table, heading back over to the wine bar instead. Jack hesitated before following him.

“You are not being very considerate,” Jack whispered. He liked the look on Kent’s face, the put-on glare Kent sent his way.

“Yeah? Well, you’re a bad date,” Kent hissed back. “Didn’t even ask if I’d like another drink. Chivalry is fucking dead.”

“Quit saying that,” Jack said, but he had to struggle not to laugh. “I regret telling you anything.” 

He had texted Kent a week ago, sending a casual invite to the gala that he had worked on for several minutes, editing and rewriting until it didn’t make him feel exposed. He should have known that Kent would manage to get every detail out of him anyway, including that Kent was semi-officially here as Jack’s date. Or, at least, when Jack’s mother had asked if he wanted to bring a plus-one, Jack had jokingly said that he’d be bringing Kent as his date. Which Kent was probably never going to let him live down.

“Look, it’s over,” Kent said. He nodded toward the stage, where the speeches had ended and a string quartet was setting up their music stands. “Now let’s get shloshed, dude.”

“I’m not getting _shloshed_ , Kenny, I’m not a frat kid. Who even says that?”

Kent looked at him, and Jack knew what he was going to say before he said it. And somehow, he knew it would work on him anyway. “Yeah, yeah, sounds like the type of thing an old guy who can’t handle his drink anymore would say. Poor Zimms, can’t even --”

Jack took the flute out of Kent’s hand and drained half of it in one go. “Yeah, and you’re the one with a game in a couple days. Think you can outdrink me?”

“Always,” Kent said, which was a fundamental misrepresentation of reality. He was always the first to drop. 

And Jack -- Jack loved this. As long as he’d known him, Kent was the only person who didn’t watch over him like a hawk, who could let him have fun without either reacting like Jack showing a sense of humor was a miracle or by smothering him with worry. Even after Jack quit hockey, when everyone else took that as evidence that he was at rock bottom instead of seeing that he was finally ready to be okay, Kent might not have been the only person to tell Jack he was proud of him, but he was the only person who Jack unequivocally believed. 

“Sure,” was all he said, though. “If the basic physical composition of your body has been scientifically altered from every other time we drank together, then sure.”

“Zimms, you’re so fucking weird,” Kent said, laughing, and that was when Jack’s mother found them.

“Jack,” she said, hugging him around the shoulders. She smiled at Kent. “Hello, Kent. It’s wonderful to see you again.”

Kent set his champagne flute down on the bar and stuck out one hand. He always managed to simultaneously look like a grubby little kid and a movie star at any given moment, Jack thought fondly. “Pleasure’s all mine, Mrs. Zimmermann. It’s amazing what you and Bob are doing here. If there’s anything I can do to help out, just tell me and I’ll do it. I mean it.”

“Oh, I will,” Alicia laughed. “I have your number. I just….” She paused, looking a little misty-eyed. “Kent, I can’t tell you how happy I am. We always knew Jack would -- that everything was going to be okay, but seeing the two of you together now is just something else. Who would have thought?”

Jack was completely lost. He turned to Kent, but Kent was smiling at Alicia, a little frozen, so no help there. “What do you mean?”

Alicia tucked her arm over his. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m your mother, I’m emotional. But you two look so happy together, and I can’t help -- I don’t want you to be alone, darling. I’m sorry, I’m about four glasses deep now, ignore me. I’m just glad you’ve found your way back together after all this, is all. How long have you been back together again, Kent? Jack didn’t mention.”

Jack’s brain felt like it was short-circuiting. He just wanted to have an irresponsible drinking contest with Kent, he didn’t want -- how was he supposed to let his mom down now? How could he, when this was the first time in months that she’d looked at him with hope in her eyes? 

He would regret this later, but that never stopped him in the moment. Jack pressed his hand up against the small of Kent’s back. Kent inhaled sharply, and Jack felt it again, that no-look one-timer, just the two of them against the world. No guarantee that Kent would be there, would be able to pick up on Jack’s signals without words, but the hope that he would. 

“I think it’s been a couple months now,” Kent said, and the pass connected.

Alicia gave Jack that look again, the hopeful one. “Darling, I am so happy. I really am. Enjoy your night together, Jack.” 

“Thanks, Mom,” he said numbly. He distantly felt himself smile at her, and he kept smiling while she walked away until it was more of a grimace.

“What the fuck,” Kent said next to him. “Are we, like, actually dating and you forgot to tell me? Are we getting married?”

“We’re not getting married, Parse,” Jack said. He couldn’t focus; everything felt blurry. He was lying to his mom. He’d gotten Kent to lie to his mom. He was fucking up his friendship with Kent this early on, what was wrong with him?

Kent took Jack’s flute away, gently setting it on the bar next to his own. “Good. I only would have said yes if you’d proposed with a jumbotron, anyway.”

Jack covered his face in his hands. He was not going to panic. He was okay. Kent’s voice was next to him. This could be okay.

“I’m just saying, dude, I have standards.” Kent shifted closer. He didn’t touch Jack, but Jack could still feel him closer. “So, do you want me to be your date tonight for real? Or we can clear things up with your mom. And then all three of us can laugh together and get drunk as fuck.”

 _This wasn’t the kind of thing they’d be able to laugh at_ , Jack thought, fury rising, but he pursed his lips and said nothing. Kent was saying something else, but Jack watched the other guests at the gala and let the buzz of their voices drown everything out.

He still had the feeling that his parents would never be able to see the funny side of this, but now he wasn’t sure _why_. Maybe Parse was right. This did feel suspiciously like an irrational thought. “Yeah,” he said, turning back to Kent and cutting him off mid-sentence. “You’re right. Let’s just have fun.”

“After you, hot stuff,” Kent said, and Jack tried and failed to trip him.

Jack wanted to duck out again, even though the idea of being alone with Kent made him anxious right now. But as he led Kent around groups of people and white-topped tables, he inadvertently walked right into a group of people he knew, mostly his mother’s old friends from her WAG days.

“Jack! How are you?”

He felt his throat tighten, the sensation old but familiar. It was just a conversation, just people, but suddenly he knew that everything about him was wrong. He didn’t even know their names, as he’d been younger when they’d really met, and drowning in the mental swamp of his anxiety to the extent that he’d retained pretty much nothing beyond their faces. There was probably something he could do, something obvious, to get out of this situation, but he was too caught up in his panic to think.

“We’re having a great time,” Kent said. “It’s an amazing cause. I’m Kent Parson, I don’t think we’ve met.”

It worked like a charm. Jack remembered Lisa, Sheena, and Marie once they introduced themselves, and he tried to memorize Karen and Donna’s names without being obvious about it. “It’s good to see you again,” he said, and the second time he repeated it he realized there was no need to say it to everyone. 

Kent brushed against Jack’s arm, so casually that Jack wasn’t sure if it was on purpose. “So I guess you all have known Jack for awhile, then? We go way back, too.”

Jack was jolted out of his fear-induced stupor. God, Kent said the dumbest shit sometimes. “We’re dating,” he explained. He didn’t really know why. But if there was one thing he was good at, it was committing to something once he’d started.

“What! How lovely!” Karen, or Donna, said. They were safe, Jack thought. They weren’t the kind of people who were going to talk to the press, and even if they had been, Kent was out. Jack wasn’t, he didn’t want to be on top of everything else, but these women were close with his mom. They were safe.

Kent was staring at him. Jack looked right back. He couldn’t take any of it back now, and he knew he might want to soon, so in the meantime he just put his arm around Kent, a little awkwardly.

Kent didn’t shrug him off, which Jack didn’t realize he was worried about until he felt the relief.

“Yes,” Jack said. He felt, suddenly, like he needed to be very precise in order to counteract all the champagne. “It’s been about two months.” 

“Feels like longer,” Kent said, looping his arm through Jack’s.

And whatever awkwardness and tension had been holding Jack hostage just -- left. He just felt Kent’s warm body on his, the fizzy sense of alcohol under his skin, the adrenaline of knowing he and Kent were inside a club no one else was privy to. “Aw, Kenny,” he said. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

“Zimms, wow,” Kent said. Jack liked watching him struggle between playing it gracious by focusing on Alicia’s friends and getting pulled into their own weird, private thing. It wasn’t really a surprise when Jack won. “Stop, you’re giving me butterflies.”

Jack ruffled the front of Kent’s hair and smiled serenely at the way Kent squawked.

“He’s a keeper, ladies,” Kent said, pushing Jack away. “Despite everything you see to the contrary. But please, don’t let us keep you from the rest of your evening. It looks like the champagne’s starting to run low.”

It should have been obvious, the brush-off, but Kent had a way of talking to people that made them feel special. Jack wasn’t sure if he’d ever completely get over that, or the bitterness that came with it when he realized it was just how Kent was. Still, it worked, and they suddenly found themselves without an audience. 

They had nowhere in particular to go, but Jack led the way to an empty table that had been pushed against a row of tall windows. Kent followed him. Jack slouched into a chair, watched Kent almost trip as he sat down, and suddenly everything was funny. “Come sit closer,” he said. “Angel face.”

Kent choked on nothing, and when he’d finished coughing his face was bright red. “Christ, Zimmermann. Save it for the honeymoon.”

Jack didn’t answer right away. He leaned in so his knee pressed against Kent’s, just to watch Kent flinch. “Can we do this?” he asked. 

Kent stared back. His face was still pink, but fading quickly. “For how long?”

“For -- I don’t know. For the foreseeable future.” Jack didn’t know how to explain it, that he hadn’t realized until tonight how long it had been since he had done anything to make his parents feel proud of him, and now he didn’t want to ruin it. Or was this supposed to be funny? “Can we?”

He didn’t know how to explain. He would go crazy if he had to explain, if he had to put all that on the table for Kent to look at. 

“No prob,” Kent said, and it was that easy. Jack didn’t remember things being easy with Kent, but he supposed they were, sometimes.

The event cleared out eventually. Jack felt the time pass painlessly, most of it spent by the window, shooting the shit with Kent. It amused him to watch the stages of Kent’s discomfort with his formal apparel, how he took his jacket off, then pushed up his sleeves, then loosened his tie, and eventually even took off his shoes.

By the time the ballroom was mostly empty and Jack’s father pulled out a chair to join them, Kent looked like he was dangerously close to falling asleep. 

“Hockey schedule,” Kent grumbled when he caught Jack laughing at him, and Bob patted him on the back. “Some of us can’t stay up all night, Zimms.”

It was a joke, but when Jack saw Bob’s smile, it wasn’t funny. It didn’t matter how many times Bob said he understood why Jack needed to quit hockey; he would always wish that his son could be different. Could be normal, happier. 

Kent caught Jack’s eye. “Sorry, babe. I’ll try to stay awake.”

Jack looked down. Kent’s hands were right there on the table. It would be so easy to reach down and grab one, but he was too scared. He wasn’t sure why. “It’s okay,” he said quietly.

“I’ll probably stay awake more if you go grab me some coffee,” Kent said. He had a glint in his eye, which was about the only warning Jack got. “Give me a chance to enjoy the view.” He paused. “I mean, like, your ass. Enjoy the view of --”

“Got it, Parse.” Jack could hear his dad snort with laughter; he didn’t really want to make eye contact with him right now. “Coffee, coming right up.”

“Lots of cream, no --”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He was tempted to flip Kent off, but he supposed that wouldn’t blend with the whole dating thing. “Be right back….” Shit, he didn’t know what would be considered a normal pet name. Were there normal pet names? He didn’t want to use the ones Bitty had used with him, that would be weird. “Uh, sit tight. Baby.”

He got a coffee for himself, too. Sitting with his father and Kent at the same time seemed scary right now, and he was starting to realize that he and Kent were both too drunk to pull off anything convincing tonight. So he drank his coffee slowly, sobering up little by little. By the time he got back to the table, Bob was gone and Kent had his head down.

“Wake up,” he said. He scratched the back of Kent’s neck, and Kent jerked like he was ticklish there. Because he was. “Where’d my dad go?”

“Helping clean up. I talked about how hot you are until he couldn’t take it anymore.” Kent looked exhausted, and he eagerly accepted the coffee. “Fuck you, bro, this is cold. I gotta go soon.”

Jack knew. Kent needed sleep, and he had a plane to catch in the morning. “Kent,” he said.

Kent ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even worse, and looked at him.

The thing was, Jack was just bowled over by how lucky he was to be here. He was done with hockey, and he was fine. Kent was out, and he was fine. They were friends again, and they hadn’t killed each other. “Thanks,” he said. “This was fun. I mean, really fun. I liked seeing you. Even though you still look like shit in a suit.”

“That’s why I’m taking it off,” Kent said. “But hey, way to rub it in. Nah, man, thank you. Let’s do this again.” He fiddled with one of the napkins on the table. “So, like, I guess you want your folks to think we’re dating? Or are you gonna tell them it was, like, a joke?”

Jack drained the rest of his coffee. It wasn’t hot enough to burn anymore. “Yeah. I -- yeah, I’d rather they believe it. Is that --?”

“Yeah, yeah! Just checking.” Kent laughed, the kind of laugh that Jack only witnessed when Kent was on the verge of passing out from exhaustion. “Zimms, this is crazy. You’re crazy. This was so much fun.”

Jack kicked at Kent’s chair until he stood up, then walked with him toward the door. He wanted to say more, to make sure they were on the same page. Maybe Jack would change his mind in the morning, once the last of the champagne wore off. He kind of hoped he wouldn’t. “Well,” he said, once they were by the main doors. “You’re not driving, right?”

Kent shook his head, squinting a little, and pulled Jack close for a hug. “Uber,” he mumbled into Jack’s shirt, and Jack hadn’t figured out what to think about that yet by the time the hug was over. He wondered if he should kiss Kent, if that would be part of this. “See ya, Jack.”

“Drive safe,” Jack said, which was stupid because Kent wasn’t driving. They’d just established that. But Kent just waved at him, and Jack resisted the urge to ask him to stay.

He found his parents instead.

Alicia was sitting on the stage, still playing with her wine glass. Bob was chatting animatedly with some of the kitchen staff. “Jack,” Alicia said, and her arms were easy to fall into. Jack sat down beside her and took her glass, finishing it off. “Oh, baby, I was drinking that. Well, it’s for the best.”

They were quiet together. Jack felt calmer, with the alcohol and Kent wearing off. He felt like he owed it to her to tell the truth. He knew that telling the truth would make him look like a shitty son.

“Maman,” Jack said. He didn’t know where to begin. 

“Jack,” she said. She rested her chin on his shoulder. “Baby, I’m so proud of you. I really am.”

Jack felt the stage under him, the roughness of it beneath his fingers. He felt the sharpness of his mother’s chin on his shoulder, and the warmth of it. “Thank you, Maman,” he said, and he let her fall asleep there.


	2. feel the same thing, I feel the same thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Nights With You by MØ.

“My parents think I should visit you,” Jack said on the phone.

It had been a long time since Jack was in Vegas. He’d never been in Kent’s space here. “Yeah?” Kent asked, keeping his voice neutral. “Bob and Alicia always lookin’ out for me, I’m getting lonely without you. You want to come?”

“Maybe,” Jack said. Kent wasn’t getting anything from his tone. “It’s getting kind of cold here. A change of weather might be nice.”

Kent tilted the phone away from his face and gritted his teeth until he could trust himself to speak. He hated this shit with Jack, not knowing what was dry humor and what wasn’t. That Jack couldn’t even say something normal like how it would be cool to see Kent again. “I got a spare room if you want. When do you think you might come out here?”

“Couple days, if that’s alright. Friday?”

Kent probably would have said yes if Jack had asked to come over in five minutes. “Yeah, I think that works. We’ve got some home games. Bring your swim trunks.”

He was super willing to be chill about this whole thing, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to show Jack a good time. After practice the next day, Kent was just running through his mental grocery list - brats, buns, probably like $100 of liquor and mixers - when a flying sock hit him in the face.

“What are you smiling about, Parser?” Swoops asked. Kent hadn’t even realized he wasn’t alone in the locker room, damn. “Or do I wanna know?” 

Kent threw the sock back at him. “Just thinking about tequila, man. But I’ll tell you what, you just keep watching me and let me know if you see any other facial expressions you want to know about.”

Swoops laughed. “Hey, if you’re buying, tequila’ll make me smile too. You going out tonight?”

He hadn’t been planning to. But if Swoops was in, he was in. “Sure. Only I gotta pick up a few things first. How about I meet you there at 9? The usual.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fair warning, I’m gonna want to talk about the girl.”

Swoops was kind of weird because he liked to actually talk about his feelings and his dating life, like, with depth. Kent was trying to limit him to once a week. “Damn, bro, we get it. You like her. But yeah, let’s do it. Fair warning yourself, I’m gonna talk about our game Saturday.”

“Man, if only you would actually go on dates. Imagine it, Parser, the two of us swapping stories….”

“I go on dates.” Like, two years ago. “Whatever, maybe I’m keeping my options open.”

Swoops gave him the most disbelieving look in the history of the world. “Keeping your options open. He’s dating again, isn’t he?”

Motherfucker. “One date. But that wasn’t serious.” After Jack and that blond kid broke up, Jack hadn’t really been seen out with anyone until a few months ago. Kent wasn’t proud of the social media deep-dive he’d performed on the woman, but it was worth it when he saw that her thing with Jack hadn’t panned out and she was with someone else now. “Not everything has to be about him, anyway.”

“Funny, coming from you. But I’ll see you at 9 and we won’t talk about him at all. Unless you get really drunk, but that wouldn’t be my fault. Sound good?”

Kent kind of hated that he and Swoops never used Jack’s name in conversations like this, like he was Voldemort or something, but at the same time it was better than the alternative. And like hell was he telling Swoops about his and Jack’s new arrangement, because Swoops would see through him in a second. “Yeah, bro, I’ll meet you there. Now I gotta peace out. Don’t wear that yellow shirt, though, I’ll just leave.” 

Swoops flipped him off, and Kent left to go get ready for Jack.

He always had two lives. The closet had split him in half, and even now that he was publicly out there were clear lines between what was real and what other people could see. 

Looking back, Jack had always been on one side of that line. The same side where the truth about Kent lived, and he kind of liked it that way. 

Friday came, and Jack texted him the flight details. By the time he pulled into the airport’s pickup zone, he was kind of embarrassed by how fast his heart was racing. “‘Sup, dude,” he said when Jack found his car. “Good flight?”

Jack stowed his suitcase in the back and climbed in the passenger seat. His face was serious, beautiful. “Hey. Are you sure it’s okay that I stay at your place? I can get a hotel.”

Kent fought his immediate irritation. It figured that Jack was immediately trying to get out of staying in close proximity with him. “Yeah, Jack, it’s all good. I made up the bed and everything.”

Jack nodded, and Kent turned on his music so he wouldn’t have to deal with whatever weird energy Jack was bringing today. He didn’t think Jack was probably into pop music, but Jack didn’t complain, and by the time they got to Kent’s house he was starting to feel like a dick.

“Hey, man,” he said, feeling awkward. He didn’t get how the last time they saw each other everything was fun and easy, but now he didn’t really want to look directly at Jack. “Like, thanks for coming. Do you need any rest from your flight, or do you wanna see my pool?”

Jack smiled, and Kent immediately was smiling too. “I can change. I can’t believe the weather here, it’s so nice out.”

Kent had no interest in talking about the weather with Jack, ever. “Meet me at the diving board in five,” he said, taunting a little even though he wasn’t sure what exactly the challenge was, and Jack laughed.

He got their drinks ready while Jack changed in the bathroom, and when he turned around he almost died. 

“What the fuck,” he said, because he hadn’t seen Jack shirtless in literal years, and it was sort of like getting stabbed. “Uh, mimosa?”

“Sure,” Jack said. He looked down at his trunks like maybe there was something wrong with them that had caused Kent’s reaction. 

Kent could not handle this. “Let’s get this party started,” he said, grabbing his drink and handing Jack the other. He ignored how Jack was poking him in the back as they opened the back patio door. He ignored it for three seconds, anyway. “Fuck off, Zimms, I hate you - “

“Parser!”

Jack froze. Kent couldn’t see him, but he could feel Jack’s finger go still on his lower back, and before Kent could turn around and apologize for having asshole friends who used his security code to annoy him and swim in his pool without permission, Jack was winding his arm around Kent’s waist. “Let’s do this,” Jack whispered in his ear, and suddenly it was like they were seventeen again, except Jack was exponentially hotter now. 

Kent shivered, and Jack nudged him forward so they could get out of the house. “What are you clowns doing in my pool?” Kent called out, and Swoops and Owens waved at him. “There goes water sex with my boyfriend.”

Jack pushed him a little, and if anything Kent was happy to know he’d embarrassed him. “The fuck is wrong with you,” Swoops complained, while Owens climbed out of the pool, and then, “Wait, your what now?”

Kent stopped and looked back at Jack. “It’s time to tell them, sugarlips,” he said, quiet enough that only Jack would hear. Jack was making that weird face he did when he tried not to smile, which was pretty much perfect for Kent. He looked back at his two horrible, dumbass friends, who had basically been there with him through his whole time with the Aces and who might have listened to him drunk-cry in bathrooms over his boy problems enough times to have figured out that was mostly about Jack, but whatever. “So, Jack and I are, like, dating. It’s hot, right?”

“You’re so bad at this,” Jack whispered, but Kent was too busy glaring at Swoops to listen. He needed to make sure Swoops was aware that Kent would push him in the pool if he did anything shitty with Jack. 

“So that’s cool,” Swoops said. Not like he thought it was cool, and not like he noticed Kent’s warning. He came over to shake Jack’s hand, which was a power move if Kent ever saw one. “I guess you mean it this time, huh?” 

Shots fired, mostly right into Kent’s gut. “Hey, hey,” he said. He needed to recover first, because there was no way Jack would. “Water under the bridge, man. Anyway, this time around it’s totally casual - “

Which was exactly the moment that Jack answered, as solemn as could be, “Of course I mean it this time.”

“Uh.” Kent became abruptly aware of two things at the same time. First, that they were not prepared to talk to Kent’s friends in any level of detail, because they’d never bothered to talk about what their story would be. Second, that it would humiliate him beyond belief if Swoops found out that Kent had gone along with this pretend-to-date-the-love-of-his-life thing, because Swoops was smart enough to know exactly how Kent would feel about it, and then he would think that Kent was pathetic. Which he wasn’t, but still. “I’m enforcing my right as the homeowner to move this conversation to a later date. Zimms, check out my sick-ass deck chairs.” 

He grabbed onto Jack’s hand, and as they fell into step together Jack squeezed tightly, just once. When Kent glanced over at him Jack brushed their shoulders together. “It’s okay,” Jack whispered.

Oh, fuck this. Kent didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for him. “Each of these chairs cost more than seven hundred dollars,” he said. What the fuck, who was he?

Jack let go of his hand and sank into one of the chairs. “It’s pretty nice, Parse. Do you have the price of all of your furniture memorized, or just these?”

“Fuck you, shut up,” Kent said, which he wasn’t supposed to do anymore because Jack wasn’t even halfway good at hiding how it hurt his feelings. “Sorry. Is it a good idea if I sit in your lap right now? For the thing?”

Jack hunched in a little, his shoulders tightening, but before Kent could backtrack he had relaxed. “Good plan,” he said, patting his leg, and Kent climbed on.

It wasn’t like before. Then, it had been a lightning strike between them, everything golden and exciting and wondering what they could get away with. It had been Kent’s thumb smoothing over Jack’s back where no one could see, Jack steadying Kent at his waist when he got too drunk. And they were always drunk, like they were always happy, at least when they were together. Or, at least Kent was.

Now, Kent could feel his heart hammering around inside him again, a lightning strike where it had appeared a thousand times before, but Jack’s muscles were tense and it wasn’t like before. Not at all.

“I don’t remember you weighing so much,” Jack mumbled.

“I don’t remember you being such a bitch,” Kent said. “Oh, wait.”

Jack laughed, the movement surprised right out of him, and Kent could feel him relaxing. “So when your friends come over here,” Jack whispered, “exactly how long do they stay?” His lips were right up against Kent’s ear, and as much as Kent knew it was so Swoops and Owens wouldn’t know what they were talking about, it still was doing it for him. In a big way.

He tilted his head back so they could see eye to eye. “They fucking never leave, Jack.” This close, Jack’s face looked huge, his individual pores close enough for Kent to see them, the movement in his throat as he breathed and swallowed obvious as anything. “We might have to scare them away with PDA.”

Jack laughed, and Kent automatically laughed too. “Kenny, come on. I want them to like me.”

Kent didn’t know how it was possible that he believed, at the same time, that anyone with a brain would like Jack and that Jack was fighting a losing battle if he wanted to be liked. He didn’t say anything, just watched Swoops and Owens walk toward them.

“Parse?” Jack whispered. “Advice?”

It wasn’t like people were that hard, Kent thought in annoyance. But everything was hard for Jack, at least in the anxious space of his own head. “Laugh at their jokes. Let me talk. Smile. Chill the fuck out.” He elbowed Jack as subtly as he could once the guys were in earshot. “Remember what I said! My house, my rules.”

“Nice to meet you again, Zimmermann,” Swoops said. “This is not an interrogation. How long have you been back together?”

“Last weekend,” Jack said. Like an idiot.

“But we started talking again a long time ago!” Kent jumped in. “We just didn’t, like, make it official, in person, until last weekend. But it’s been a thing.”

Jack was tense underneath him again, fuck. “Uh, yeah? We… we had been texting a lot. Just casual, like Parse said, but then last weekend it got more serious. It got really serious.”

Kent felt like his face was going to break from the effort of not looking horrified. Of fucking course Jack was still hung up on their mixed message from earlier, as if anyone else was still thinking about that -- 

“Nice, dude,” Swoops said. Owens was just watching them, back and forth like it was a tennis match. “Man, you must have done a major groveling routine to get Parser to say yes. I know things.”

Kent closed his eyes. They were approaching full meltdown mode any second. “Come on - “

“I wouldn’t say I groveled,” Jack said, his voice blunt in Kent’s ear. Kent swiveled around to look at him. “But I showed him how I felt. And here we are.”

Owens gave them a thumbs up. He was always nice, at least. “Aw. Super romantic, eh?”

“Hell yeah,” Kent said. If he was going to have a fake boyfriend, he was at least going to have one who did super hardcore romantic gestures for him. Whatever those even were. “He, you know. He, uh….” 

Jack squeezed him lightly around the waist. “Got him his favorite flowers. And cupcakes.”

Kent didn’t have favorite flowers, and he had no fucking idea why he would want cupcakes, but Jack knew more about serious relationships than he did. “And now, here we are!” he said cheerfully. He grabbed Jack’s wrists and crossed Jack’s arms over his own chest.

“Kiss him, kiss him,” Owens started chanting. He didn’t seem bothered that Swoops wasn’t joining in. “Kiss him, kiss - “

Before Kent could try to send telepathic signals to Jack and figure out if this was a good idea, Jack stood up, still holding onto Kent, and swept him into a kiss. It probably looked hot as shit, at least based on the way Owens was hooting at them, and Kent was just starting to relax into it when Jack pushed him into the pool.

Kent resurfaced and gasped for air just as Jack cannonballed in next to him, and he was still coughing when Jack came up beside him. Dimly, he could register the predictable laughing and shouting from Swoops and Owens above them, which was almost as bad as the smug look on Jack’s face. He splashed Jack in the face, and before things could escalate from there Swoops and Owens had jumped in too.

“Zimms, you ruin everything,” he groused, but he couldn’t stay mad when Jack was laughing. He watched little droplets of water run down Jack’s chest. “Let’s make out.”

He pulled Jack closer. It was easy to move him in the water, and Jack nudged him up against the pool wall. “How long?” Jack whispered in his ear, one hand trailing up and down Kent’s side.

Kent’s heart felt like it was going to explode. He didn’t care who was watching or where they were, he just wanted Jack to crowd him in like this, to keep touching him. _How long?_ he thought, but his mind was far away when Jack’s breath was hot on his neck like this. _You know it’s been forever. You know._

“Ten, fifteen seconds?” Jack whispered. “Or is that too long?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Kent said. He forgot how much it hurt to want things with Jack. It was different, wanting things when Jack was touching him. It was easier when they weren’t talking. “Sure. Ten seconds. Are you gonna time it? That’s hot.”

Jack pushed him harder into the wall. It hurt a little, and it would have been so fucking hot if it hadn’t been Jack’s way of being pouty. It still kind of was. Then Jack pressed forward, his whole body sliding against Kent’s under the water, and Kent’s back didn’t hurt anymore.

It was stupid, how good it felt. 

Kent pushed himself up, wrapped his legs around Jack’s waist and licked past Jack’s lips. He didn’t bother pretending that things were different, but he remembered -- God, he hadn’t thought about it in years -- he remembered doing this, exactly this, at the Zimmermanns’ pool a week after their last season together ended. It had been exactly this, Kent straddling Jack in the water, Jack pushing him up against the wall, messy wet kissing and pulses shimmering together. It was different then, too. Jack hadn’t been able to keep his hands to himself, had gone inside Kent’s swim trunks. The wall hadn’t felt like pain on Kent’s back then, either, but bruises had formed afterward. Kent had been so happy his brain felt like it was just static, and he had laid down flat on his back on the concrete by the pool, smiling up at the sky like an idiot while Jack pulled the heads off dandelions and dropped them one by one on Kent’s head.

“You look ridiculous,” Jack had said.

“I love you,” Kent had said, and Jack put a dandelion head on his forehead.

They hadn’t had an audience, then.

This was going on for way more than ten seconds. Kent bit Jack’s lower lip, harder than Jack would probably like, and eased down until he was standing on his own two feet again. He pulled back, dunked beneath the water to cool off for a second. 

“Get it, Parser,” Owens yelled, and Swoops grabbed Kent and dunked him again, which he probably deserved.

They stayed in the pool until it was too cold, then changed into dry clothes and lounged around Kent’s fire pit. Jack got the fire started, which was hot. It was stupid that it was hot, since Kent could just as easily have done it himself, but he was pretty sure the look on his face must have been on another level of horny based on the way Swoops grimaced at him.

Jack huffed out a little laugh when Kent climbed onto his lap again, but he didn’t say no. Kent rested his head back and looked up at the stars. He had a game the next day, and as the captain he probably should kick Swoops and Owens out soon so they could get some rest, but he just wanted to stay here. Jack pulled Kent in closer, and even though he knew it was just because Jack was cold and wanted to steal his body heat, Kent closed his eyes and just rested in it for a second.

“I gotta pee,” Jack said eventually, and Kent felt weird without him, wrong on a physical level.

Swoops and Owens were eyeing him like they wanted to grill him on everything, so Kent made up some shit about wanting to roast marshmallows and ran inside. He couldn’t be alone with them right now.

He was surprised when Swoops cornered him in the kitchen, but then again he probably shouldn’t have been. Swoops was tenacious, and kind of a pushy dick when it came down to it.

“You didn’t tell me,” Swoops said.

Kent shrugged. He didn’t know how normal people talked about stuff like this. Normal people didn’t stick with one person the way he did with Jack. “Yeah, I mean. I dunno. We’re just trying things out, you know?”

“How are you not losing your mind right now?”

Kent laughed. It didn’t sound right, but whatever. “I mean, yeah, it’s kind of weird. I never actually thought this would happen, you know? But we’re just taking it one day at a time. It’s good.”

Swoops narrowed his eyes a little. “Okay, Parser. So where are these marshmallows? And if we’re roasting shit, we need those little cocktail weenies or whatever. You have some?”

Kent didn’t, but Swoops seemed satisfied. He didn’t ask any more questions, anyway. They walked back to the fire, and since Jack was already back, Kent crawled back on top of him and looped an arm around his neck. “Miss me?”

“Sure, Parse,” Jack said. He kissed Kent on the top of his head, which was probably a romantic thing even if Kent didn’t get it. It got Owens to make annoying kissy sounds at them, anyway.

Kent roasted half the bag of marshmallows himself. He was pretty much the GOAT of the perfect golden-brown marshmallow, and he gave most of them to Jack. He stayed on Jack’s lap the whole time, and almost burnt a few of the marshmallows just because he got distracted by Jack doing this dumb play-by-play of each one. 

“That was a close one, Parse,” Jack said, and popped the latest one in his mouth. Kent zeroed in on the sticky mess on Jack’s fingers, how he sucked it off, how his throat moved as he swallowed. “I wasn’t sure you were gonna pull it off.”

“I’m a marshmallow god,” Kent said. 

Owens tried to suggest they all order pizza and watch a movie to round off the night, but Swoops interrupted him. “We’ll get out of your hair,” he said. “I don’t think I want to be here when you inevitably rip each others’ clothes off. 

“No,” Kent said quickly. “You can stay, it’s fine. I’m not tired. You’re not tired, right, Jack?”

Swoops gave him a weird look. “Game tomorrow, Parser. And don’t you want to be alone with your boyfriend or whatever?”

Kent knew Swoops was right. But he felt cold all over just thinking about being alone with Jack, because being alone meant they wouldn’t have an audience to work for. It meant Kent wouldn’t have a good reason to sit on his lap anymore, and now that he was used to it again he felt like he couldn’t handle distance.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Jack said. “I’m getting kind of tired anyway. Long flight, and it’s probably three in the morning, my time.”

“Yeah, but now you’re on my time,” Kent said, even though there was no point. Swoops and Owens were leaving, and Jack was nudging at him to get up so they could walk them to the door.

“So great meeting you,” Owens was saying to Jack as they went inside. “It’s awesome that you guys are doing this. And that you’re, like, happy. You coming to the game tomorrow?”

Kent couldn’t hear Jack’s answer.

Swoops squeezed Kent’s elbow in the doorway, then pulled him into a hug. “It’s okay, Parser.”

“Yeah, I know it is,” Kent said. Well, snapped. He didn’t like this shit. “Bye, go be dumb somewhere else. And, like, thanks for being cool.” He watched until they were down the driveway, down to where Owens’ car was parked in the street.

Then he turned to Jack. “That was weird.”

Jack had retreated from the foyer almost as soon as the door had shut. “Yeah. I wasn’t expecting to meet your best friend the second I got here, that’s for sure.”

“No, I mean - “ Kent thought again about how Swoops had hugged him, what he’d said as he left. “Swoops was weird just then. Like, you saw, right? Weird.”

He got it, suddenly, and it fucking sucked. He couldn’t even hear what Jack was saying. Of course Swoops was acting weird. Swoops knew Kent too well, and he knew enough about their past that he wouldn’t trust Jack like this. 

Swoops totally thought Jack was, like, using him for sex. Or that Jack was going to get sick of him and dump him any second. Fuck. 

Kent wasn’t the best player in his division anymore, not really. He was getting too old. But he had done enough, and was still achieving enough, that no one in their right mind would feel _sorry_ for him. If people just focused on hockey, he was fine. It was when he let people get to know him that they got the full picture, and that was when they started to pity him. 

“Zimms,” he said. He knew his voice sounded slightly terrifying. “We need to up our game. We need to - god!” He kicked the door.

Jack was watching, but like he was behind a mask. 

Kent took a deep breath. He was going to ruin this. “Don’t look at me like that. And don’t ask me why. Just try harder. We need to do such a fucking good job that everyone who sees us together things that we’re fucking, like, relationship goals. _Everyone._ Can you do that?”

“Parse.” Jack’s mask hadn’t changed. He was just looking at Kent, and not like Kent was someone important, not like Kent was someone whose feelings really needed his attention. Kent wanted to say something about that, too, but he dug his fingernails into his palms and said nothing. “What’s this about?”

“Nothing,” Kent said. He turned away, and all the fight went out of him. “This was a decent night, Zimms. Sorry, I don’t want to mess it up now. Wanna just go to bed?”

Jack nodded, and Kent could see a subtle shift in him, too. The exhaustion he must have been feeling was suddenly written all over him. “Yeah.”

Kent wanted to hug him goodnight. He could still feel a tingle all the way down his body where he’d been sitting on Jack, pressed up against him, and he couldn’t think about the fact that they’d been wrapped up together, soaking wet in a pool and sticking their tongues down each other’s throats, without feeling like he needed to throw himself immediately at Jack again. 

He wasn’t sure if Jack cared about that at all. 

“Night, dude,” he said, and all he did was clap Jack on the shoulder, a little awkwardly. Jack just looked at him. 

Alone in his room, Kent ran through everything again. And again, and again. He stopped on the moment where Jack had played with the bottom of Kent’s swim trunks, tugging there while he practically flattened Kent against the wall. Kent wondered what Jack slept in, these days. What was the point of hurting himself like this?

He felt a buzz against his leg, and he looked at his phone.

**Jack:**  
What’s your favorite flower, anyway?

Kent smiled, even though his face was aching. He thought about Jack, somewhere in his house, and he knew what the point was. 

**Kent:**  
who even likes flowers bro?

It wasn’t funny, but somewhere down the hall, he heard Jack laugh.


	3. just flexing on my exes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from I'm the One by DJ Khaled.

Parser was throwing a pool party after practice on Sunday. Swoops expected it to be a disaster.

“It’ll be fun,” Owens said. Swoops just stared at him. “I mean…. It’ll be fun for us? Since, you know. We get to watch them be the worst actors in the world. That’s fun.”

“It won’t be fun if Parser has an emotional breakdown and locks himself in the pool shed,” Swoops grumbled.

“That was just the one time, though.”

“Yeah, and it was about Zimmermann. Now this shit is happening. Hence, emotional breakdown. Pool shed.”

Owens slapped at the steering wheel. “Pull over. Pull over.”

They were three blocks away from Parser’s house. Swoops pulled over.

“Troy,” Owens said. Very seriously. “Stop thinking about the pool shed. Let’s visualize this together, okay? Wedding bells.”

“Matt.”

“You’re the best man. You cry in your speech, everyone knows you would. Then, happiness. True love. Parser has two kids now. And it’s all because of us.”

Swoops ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, or picture this. Pain and heartbreak that not even ten years of therapy can fix. Parser sitting around and staring out the window all day, never loving again. Quitting hockey! This could be our year, if he gets hurt we won’t --”

“We’re gonna get them married, Swoops. Married.”

“Yeah, okay, if we can get them together at all. And if Zimmermann deserves it.”

“If Zimmermann deserves it,” Owens repeated, in a voice that was way stupider than Swoops’. “Blah, blah, I have to protect Parser all the time. Get over it, Swoops, let’s trick them into actually dating.”

Swoops put the car back in drive. “Maybe.”

The thing was, it was so obvious that they weren’t together. Parser would have been way more avoidant and defensive if they were, and in what fucking universe would Parser be convinced by a romantic flower delivery?

Favorite flowers, Swoops’ ass. He specifically remembered that Parser had said a few months ago that he didn’t really give a shit about flowers, he just didn’t like the pink ones.

Still, this pool party was classic Parser. When Swoops parked across the street, he could hear some shitty pop song blaring from the backyard, and by the time he and Owens found Parser, the music had shifted to hip hop that had been cool five years ago.

Parser was sitting at his douchey little tiki bar, chatting with some of their teammates. Zimmermann wasn’t with him, so Swoops went in.

Until Owens grabbed him. “Dude, stop,” he whispered. “He’s flirting.”

“Uh, with _them_? No he’s fucking not.”

Owens nodded across the pool, where Zimmermann was sitting on the periphery of a conversation. Watching Parser. “Just look.”

Swoops didn’t actually want to observe Parser’s mating rituals or whatever, but he watched. He didn’t see anything at first, but then things added up one by one. Parser sitting with his back to the bar, arms spread wide to open up his chest in a way that toed the line between casual and cocky. His mouth stuck right on the edge of a smirk or a smile, crooked and sort of douchey. 

He watched Parser look right across the pool at Zimmermann. 

“Okay, so he’s undressing Zimmermann with his eyes,” Swoops said. “Not really what I wanted to see right now. Now can I go interrupt him?”

“No, man, it’s working. This is hilarious. Maybe we won’t even need to do anything.”

Zimmermann was flushing, and the creepy X-ray vision thing seemed to be going both ways. “I need a beer. Fill me in when I get back.”

When Swoops returned, a beer in each hand, Parser was lying on a pool floatie while Zimmermann treaded water next to him. Owens and Scrappy were over in the deck chairs with red smoothies. Swoops needed to get one of those.

“Cool party, eh?” Scrappy said. He gave Swoops a fist-bump as he sat down.

“Yeah.” Swoops glanced over at Owens. He was still staring intently at Parser and Zimmermann. “Dude, you need to chill. Que sera, sera, or whatever.”

“Huh?” Scraps followed their gaze. “Oh, yeah. Isn’t that awesome? Parser said they just got back together, but it must be serious if Zimmermann’s here, right?” 

“Scrappy,” Swoops said. “It’s not real.”

“Do you think if Parser really got back with Jack he’d be throwing a pool party right now?” Owens said. “No, he’d be holed up somewhere having twenty-four hour sex. Or he’d, like, only tell us once they’d been married for a year.”

They looked over at Parser and Zimmermann, who were drinking with straws from the same smoothie and looking very uncomfortable about it. 

“Oh,” Scrappy said.

Owens began explaining his grand scheme to manipulate the fake relationship into a real one, which wasn’t really a scheme because he didn’t have any ideas about getting it done. Swoops tuned it out so he could play GTA on his phone. 

He was startled out of the game when Parser walked by and snapped him in the back of the neck with his towel.

“What’s up, bitch?” Parser said, plopping down on Swoops’ lap. “Did you see there’s coconut shells you can drink out of? You’re gonna do that, right?”

“Get off me, ew.” He wasn’t opposed to bro cuddles most days of the week, but not when Parser was wet with sweat and pool water. “I’m gonna be drinking all night, so yes. Don’t you have a boyfriend to irritate right now?” 

Parser stretched out his hand for Owens’ drink. Owens handed it over, which annoyed Swoops on a fundamental level. “Yeah, but he’s inside putting more sunscreen on. And it’s not going to kill him to see what he’s been missing, right? Haha.”

Swoops pushed him off. “Bro. If you’re gonna use me to make your boyfriend jealous, at least get me a drink first.”

“I did get you a drink, it’s an open bar.”

Swoops pulled his sunglasses down and went back to his phone. 

Zimmermann came back out, but Parser seemed like he was avoiding him under the guise of making the rounds and checking in with all his guests. He just so happened to always be checking in with people on the opposite side of the pool from Zimmermann. Swoops could have predicted that, and he exchanged judgmental looks with Scrappy. Well, he was judgmental; Scrappy just looked concerned on Parser’s behalf.

“Aw, look,” Scrappy said later. “Owens is helping Parser out.”

Swoops followed where Scraps was pointing and groaned aloud. Owens was toweling the sweat off Parser’s abs. Zimmermann had a beer poised right below his mouth, but he was frozen, mouth hanging open. 

“Jesus,” Swoops mumbled. “Everyone I’m friends with has the maturity of a five-year old. Scraps, Owens is just trying to make Zimmermann jealous. Because he’s a dumbass.”

“Duh,” Scrappy said. “But it’s working. Look, Zimmermann is so turned on right now.”

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.” Swoops needed new friends.

But as the party went on, Swoops had to admit that he kind of wanted in on this matchmaking action. Partly for the bragging rights, partly so his friends would stop talking nonstop about Jack Zimmermann’s libido. 

“We could go ice fishing with them,” Scrappy was whispering. They were crowded together in the living room, and while there wasn’t anyone currently around to overhear them, you never knew. “Canadians love ice fishing. And they would get all cozy in one of those little houses, with blankets, and things would just go from there.”

“No, dude, literally just go to a gay club together,” Owens said. “That’s always fun, and then Jack would see how all the guys there go crazy over Parser, and he’d lock it down on the spot.”

Swoops was on board with the whole thing, he really was, but not quite that on board. “Bro. Too much. I’m gonna find Parser, see ya in a bit.”

Parser was in the kitchen with Zimmermann, and from the sound of it they were talking about their plans for the next morning before Parser had to leave for a stretch of away games. Swoops coughed loudly from outside the kitchen, and was amused to see Parser shoving Zimmermann up against the fridge in a full-on makeout by the time Swoops stepped in.

“Sorry, dude,” Parser said, stepping away quickly and wiping his mouth. “Didn’t see you there.”

“Uh-huh.” Swoops nodded at Zimmermann. “Hey, do you mind? I just need to check in with Parser here.”

Zimmermann looked a little startled, but he patted Parser on the back a little awkwardly and left them. 

“Talkative guy you’ve got there,” Swoops said, mostly testing.

“Watch it, dickface.” Parser glared and tossed a banana at Swoops. He always had bananas on his counter even though he didn’t even like them. “That’s my man you’re talking about. And he talks plenty to me. Maybe he just thinks you’re rude.”

“Aw, is he scared of me?” Swoops kind of liked that. “Hey, come on. I’m sorry. Let’s talk. How are things going with you two? I know you’ve wanted this for a long time.”

Parser blinked at him, honest for a second before he recovered. “Yeah. Uh, yeah, I did. So it’s super great to actually have it, you know?” He moved to shove his hands in his pockets, but his swim trunks didn’t have any, so he just rubbed his hands together nervously and messed with his hair a little.

Now Swoops felt bad. “Good, man. And this party was crazy. I emptied, like, five coconuts, you’re a menace.”

“Aw, thanks, bro.” Parser rolled his eyes, but Swoops knew he meant it. “It’s cool everyone could make it. Just gotta show off my man, right?”

“Sure, Parser.” Swoops unpeeled the banana and took a bite. “Never figured you for the PDA type, but I get it. You need to gloat.”

Parser laughed. “Hell yeah. Six-foot-one of gorgeous Canadian muscle, you think I’m - “

Swoops threw the rest of the banana at him, and Parser shut up.

They crashed hard after their first away game, a loss, and Swoops didn’t wake up until the plane landed. They had two more aways to get through before coming back home, and Swoops excused himself from the traditional game night in Parser’s hotel room that evening so he could get some sleep. 

Owens came to his room a few minutes later anyway, breathless and excited. “Swoops! Swoops! Come see!”

“If Scrappy put a bunch of pens in his mouth again, I don’t wanna see. I’m trying to fucking sleep, Matt.”

“Oh, so you’re not interested in what Jack Zimmermann did? Good night.”

Swoops grumbled and followed him down the hall. 

Parser’s room looked like it wouldn’t work for game night after all. There wasn’t any space, because the whole thing was filled up with pink flowers. It smelled sickly sweet, and a couple of the guys were sneezing.

“What the fuck are these?” Swoops said. God, did there have to be a million? What was Parser supposed to do with them? 

“Petunias,” Scrappy said. He waved a little card at Swoops that must have had the name on it. “I mean, it’s romantic?”

Maybe for someone else. Maybe for Nicholas Sparks. “Parser, want help cleaning these up? Or are you keeping them around?”

Parser looked like he was kind of in a daze. “Uh. I probably should take a picture first, wait.” 

The other guys groaned and headed for the door. Parser was notorious for taking thirty minutes to do a whole stupid photoshoot. He was weird about his angles.

Swoops waited to see what Parser was doing, but since he seemed like he just wanted to take a pretty simple picture with a few of the flowers, he figured it was safe to stick around. “Good call, Parser,” he said, grabbing some of the others. “Classier that way. Hey, can I get rid of these?”

“Uh.” Parser looked guilty for a second. “I guess? I don’t know what to do with them, I’m not even in the right state. Sure.”

Swoops brought some of the flowers down to the front desk. He asked for a room service cart, which he thought was kind of a shot in the dark, but they actually let him have one so he could bring everything down to the dumpster. 

By the time he got back up to Parser’s room, Parser had the petunias neatly lined up by the door. “Short photoshoot this time, bro,” Swoops said.

Parser shrugged. “I’m having a good hair day.”

Swoops started putting the flowers on the cart. He knew he shouldn’t ask, but he couldn’t resist. “So, is that the same flower Zimmermann got you last time?”

“Huh?” Parser looked younger than usual, confused. 

“You know. When he wooed you back or whatever.”

Parser thunked a flower box down so hard the dirt spilled out. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I guess. I think so.”

“Hm.” 

Swoops brought the cart back down to the front desk, where an employee was nice enough to take it from there. 

When he got off the elevator at his own hallway, he wanted to check in on Parser one more time. See if he had recovered from having his dislike for pink flowers ignored, or at least say good night. But when he used Parser’s key card to open the door, Parser was on the phone.

“Yeah, maybe next time not quite that - “ Parser looked up. “Uh, hey, baby, I gotta go, Swoops wants to talk.”

Swoops waved his hand. “I’m good,” he called. “Don’t stay up all night having phone sex.”

Parser blanched a little, then smiled at whatever Zimmermann said on the phone. “Whatever, bro. See you in the morning.”

Swoops shut the door behind him. He didn’t even bother going back to his own room, just knocked on Owens’ door.

“I’m in,” he said as soon as Owens opened it. “That crazy plan you have, I’m in.”

“Cool,” Owens said. “But right now we’re just playing Pictionary.”

“Yeah, I’ll pass on that,” Swoops said, and he went to bed.


	4. you got that something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Chasing Fire by Lauv.

A single flower emoji. That was all Kent’s caption had been, and Jack wasn’t sure why that disappointed him. 

Bittle had made a much bigger deal out of it when Jack gave him flowers. Back when they had been together. Jack considered texting Kent something to this effect, considered how he could phrase it so he could make it sting without being an outright dick, but in the end he left it alone.

 _Miss you already, angel_ , he sent instead, because he knew it would irritate Kent.

 _Sorry!_ Kent texted back immediately. _I’ve been really busy with hockey._

Jack was moderately impressed by that one. He sent the middle finger emoji back. He wasn’t really sure what he was doing when it came to emojis, but in this case it seemed pretty self-explanatory. 

A few minutes later, Kent called him. “Hey,” he said as soon as Jack answered. “Did my hockey joke piss you off? Just checking.”

“Calling me right away to apologize? You’re losing your touch, Parse.”

“It’s my old age. Anyway, I’m gonna be in your neck of the woods soon. Providence Monday night, then Boston. The guys were hoping you could make it to a lunch thing.”

“A lunch thing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“The guys.”

“Yep.”

Jack sighed. Talking to Kent always made him feel like there was something big he was missing, but he didn’t know if that was fair. “I guess so? Tuesday would be better. Who else is coming?”

“You know, everyone.”

Jack let a small, barely audible laugh escape, despite his best efforts, and Kent immediately started laughing too. It felt nice. Jack forgot what he wanted to say for a minute. “Oh. Uh, I’m gonna be with friends that day too. Would it be alright if they came along? You know, for the lunch thing.”

“Yeah, like - “ Kent was suspiciously quiet. Jack waited him out. “Your friends? Like, from Samwell?”

Jack fell out of the flow of conversation, immediately. He became aware of the phone in his hand, the couch beneath him, the background noise of the heater in his apartment. “Yeah, from the team there.” He clenched his jaw, tightened his fingers around the phone. “Not Bittle.”

“Okay!” Kent laughed, but it sounded wrong. “Yeah. I mean, anyone can come. How about I text you when I know more details, alright? And I’ll let you get back to -- what are you doing right now?”

“Sitting on the couch.” Jack bit off each word. He didn’t know where the bitterness was coming from, not really. Maybe Kent didn’t deserve it. But for better or for worse, Kent was still the person he didn’t hide his worst self from, and so far Kent hadn’t told him to fuck off. “But yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Okay.” Kent sounded different. Jack couldn’t identify the tone. It could be resentful or hurt, annoyed or embarrassed. He wished he could see Kent’s face. “Take it easy, man.”

Jack moved to hang up, but Kent beat him to it.

***

He watched Kent’s game the next night, out with a couple friends from his years with the Falconers. They were at a sports bar, which seemed like a terrible place to watch hockey, at least in Jack’s opinion. He drank more than he should and hoped it would stave off the fear of being recognized, of having to navigate well-meaning questions or comments from old fans.

On the screen, Kent’s shot bounced off the crossbar. Tater whooped next to him, and Jack stared at his phone. 

_Sorry you missed,_ he typed. He hit send, and immediately regretted it.

 _To clarify, I’m watching your game,_ he added a minute later. 

Then: _To further clarify, I am drunk or close to drunk._

He stayed until the end of the second, then waved off Tater and Snowy’s offers to leave with him. “You’re having fun,” he said. “I’m going to bed.”

The Uber driver was talking on the phone during the whole ride back to Jack’s place, which didn’t feel safe. Jack was grateful for the alcohol taking the edge off; he was sure it would have been worse otherwise. Everything was a blur after that: locking the door behind him, stripping off his shirt and tugging off his pants, gargling at the sink because he didn’t have the energy to use his toothbrush.

He turned off the bedroom light, and his phone lit up. Kent was calling him. 

“Jack?”

Jack realized he had answered, and he was supposed to talk first. He had already messed that up. He was so close to falling asleep. “Hey, Kenny. Good game.”

Kent laughed, and Jack smiled. “You must not have finished it, man. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No, not yet.” Jack closed his eyes. He wondered where Kent was calling from. He should know this, the timing of everything. “How are you?”

“Can’t complain.” Kent’s voice felt warm through the phone, physically warm. Jack didn’t know if that was possible, or if he was just getting it mixed up with the alcohol under his skin. “You sound tired, Zimms. I can talk to you later.”

Jack remembered their phone call from the other day. He remembered looking at his phone, not calling. “I’m sorry. About, you know, yesterday. Sometimes we’re both dicks, eh?”

Kent laughed, that raspy one that he only let out when it was on accident. “You’re telling me. But I’m sorry too. It’s cool, it’s over with. Now I’m just excited to meet your friends. You are so gonna regret bringing them, man.”

“Sure, Kenny,” Jack said easily. Everything Kent said right now sounded fine. “I want you to meet them, too. Now I gotta go, I have a pillow.”

Kent’s laugh then was so soft that Jack could barely hear it. “Sounds good, Zimms. I’ll talk to you later.”

Jack closed his eyes, smiled at nothing. He was still smiling after he heard the click of Kent hanging up, and he fell asleep with his phone next to his head.

***

It was exactly as easy as Jack had expected to get his friends to come along. 

Ransom and Holster were practically vibrating with excitement from the first moment that Jack told them they were invited. Shitty’s eyes got all bugged-out and enthusiastic like they always did when he got to do something new. 

“Cool,” Lardo said, and she drifted toward Jack later, when the others were pulling up karaoke videos on Youtube, getting him alone. “So things with Parson are cool now, huh?” she asked quietly. 

“Yeah,” Jack said, and he went over to sit by Shitty. 

It was rude, but he hoped it would at least make it clear that he was not going to be roped into a serious conversation about Kent without a fight. And Lardo got him back by getting him to do a duet with Shitty instead of just watching, so he didn’t waste much time feeling bad about it.

“Are you gonna be mad at me if I wear my Parson jersey and ask him to sign it?” Ransom asked. “Scratch that, actually, I don’t care if you’re mad at me. This is going to be the best day of my life.”

Jack texted Kent, hiding his phone screen on the other side of his leg. _Bring security if you have it. Certain friends will stalk you._

Kent didn’t respond. He was probably busy.

By the time Jack was leaving Shitty and Lardo’s new house, the only person who had texted him was Kent’s teammate, Matthew Owens. 

_hey this is matt owens!!!_ he had begun, which was helpful because Jack didn’t have Owens in his contacts and was hoping he never would. _we’re figuring out where to eat! are u okay with it if we pick somewhere kinda cheap, or do u want to do something romantic for parser??_

Jack was pretty sure he had created a situation too complicated for himself to handle. Which was nothing new. 

And honestly, he was looking forward to it.

 _Romantic,_ he texted back. What the hell.

***

“Hey,” Kent said as soon as Jack and his friends walked into the restaurant. He was lurking in the foyer, and before Ransom or Holster had a chance to embarrass themselves, Kent was pulling Jack toward the little hallway that led to the bathrooms. 

He stopped before actually going into the bathroom, just standing outside the door. “My friends. Your friends. We didn’t talk about this. Should I tell my guys that you want to keep things quiet for now?”

 _Yes,_ Jack thought, because the mere idea of sitting through his friends’ questions, their support and excitement, was like being suffocated. “Either way is fine,” he said, because it was almost as bad to imagine what Kent’s friends would think of him if he told them to keep it a secret. “Let’s just try to keep the conversation on hockey.”

Kent raised his eyebrows. “Hockey?”

He was right -- Jack didn’t want to sit through an hour of hockey talk, it would be like salt in a wound -- but it still pissed Jack off that Kent was thinking about that. “Give it a rest, Parse.”

Kent half-flinched, the movement hardly noticeable, and his eyes shifted from hurt to cold in the span of a second. “No problem. I just don’t want you to get bored, it’ll probably be a bunch of technical shit. Not the kind of thing that’s very interesting to anyone who’s not in the league.”

Jack walked away.

“Hey, I think I see them,” Holster was saying, and Jack fell back in with his friends as they made their way over to the big table where some of the Aces were sitting. 

“What’s up, Zimmermann,” Troy said. Owens waved, and Benson -- “Scrappy,” he said, shaking each person’s hand -- was looking at him like he held the secrets to world peace. 

“Nice to see you guys again,” Jack mumbled in the direction of his menu, and he felt Kent’s hand skirt across his shoulder. He wasn’t sure, actually, how he knew it was Kent. But it was.

“I’m paying,” Kent said, settling into his chair, and he met Jack’s eyes.

Jack bumped their feet together under the table, and Kent smiled at him. He could be pissed at Kent and still recognize that they were on the same team. That was just part of it.

“Classic gentleman move,” Owens said, and Jack couldn’t catch up with the conversation in time. Couldn’t stop it. “Paying for your boyfriend’s meal.”

Jack had been looking between Kent and Owens, and he kept looking there, into that empty space. His legs felt frozen. Everything was frozen.

“I’m paying for everybody,” Kent said.

He felt stuck, part of him here and part of him, inexplicably, back in his parents’ home, hiding from them after they found out about him and Kent. This wasn’t like that at all. 

“Jack?” Lardo’s voice was uncertain.

Kent’s foot pressed down on top of his. Jack couldn’t tell if it was in encouragement or irritation, but it didn’t really matter. He forced his throat unstuck. “Yeah. I know it’s a surprise.”

His friends were all looking at him. Jack wanted to be like Kent, to be able to look right back at them and control the room, but he couldn’t do that. He just looked at Kent and tried to speak coherently. “What I mean is, yes. We’re dating. That’s why I invited you guys along today, to tell you that.”

Kent laughed, drawing their attention, and Jack was impressed despite himself by how convincingly happy Kent seemed to be. “And now we’re realizing how awkward it is to talk about it here. But man, it’s great to finally meet you guys. Jack talks about you non-stop.”

“Hell yeah,” Ransom said. 

Shitty was staring at him. Jack wasn’t looking back, but he could see out of the corner of his eye. “Let’s order first,” Jack said, gaze trained on his menu again. “Let’s just order first and talk about this after that.”

“Works for me,” Troy said. “Anyone want to split an app?”

There was a pause, and then the conversation moved away from Jack like water around a stone. He closed his eyes and breathed out, slowly. This was okay. He was okay.

Kent nudged his foot again, and Jack kicked him.

When he opened his eyes, they were both smiling. 

***

They went to Kent’s game. 

Jack hadn’t been planning to. He hadn’t gone to any NHL games since his retirement, actually, and as much as he refused to admit it was intentional, he had been avoiding it. “Sure,” he said when Troy invited them, and for once he appreciated the questioning look Kent shot his way. 

Still, he wasn’t backing out now.

The Aces scraped out a win. It wasn’t their greatest game, not by a long shot, but they won. Everyone around Jack and his Samwell crew was subdued, complaining, and Jack felt embarrassed by how loudly his friends were cheering for the away team. Then he was embarrassed for being embarrassed. On, and on, and on.

“Come on, Jack,” Holster said, elbowing him. “Cheer for your boyfriend.”

They believed it, Jack thought. He wasn’t sure if they were happy for him, for the version of him that was with Kent, but they believed it. “I’ll talk to him after the game,” Jack said, and kept his eyes on the jumbotron in case someone was filming him.

Kent texted him directions to an empty room in the building where they could all talk for a bit before Kent had to leave with his team. It was surprisingly easy to follow the directions right to the room, but Kent had always been good at things like that.

They entered the room, Jack at the front and his friends loud behind him. It was a small conference room, something like that, and Kent was sitting in a chair with his feet up on a table. His hair was damp from the shower, and he looked soft and harmless in a big hoodie. He looked exhausted.

But he brightened when he saw them, standing up. “You found it! I am a direction-giving genius. Come on, come on, we only have like twenty minutes.” 

Jack got to him first, and Kent reached up, wrapped his arms around Jack’s neck. He kissed Jack, solid and sweet, like it was second-nature. Jack was taken by surprise, but he knew what was expected of them. 

“Long game,” he said, and used his fingers to comb out the front of Kent’s hair, returning it to some semblance of normal. “You must be tired.”

“Fucking exhausted,” Kent said, and the way he smiled up at Jack, the way he caught his breath when Jack touched his hair, blinked up at him, over and over -- he was good. Jack had to admit that. “Don’t worry, some of the guys are bringing me a bunch of sugar and carbs any second now.”

“Good,” Jack said, and then he remembered that he was supposed to be letting his friends get to know Kent better. He moved to stand behind Kent, pressing up against Kent’s back and looping his arms around Kent’s waist. “You look like you could pass out any second,” he whispered. Maybe this was too much. He let go, stepped away.

Holster and Ransom were already moving in. “Such a freaking tight play in the first, man,” Holster said, “I mean, defensively? Holy shit.”

“‘S why you’re the best,” Ransom agreed.

Kent smiled, cocking his head to the side. “Nah, come on. The last thing I need is someone feeding my ego.”

“Don’t play humble,” Jack said, more in Kent’s ear than anything, but he knew everyone heard him. He bit his lip and stepped closer to Kent again, ducking to hide his face a little.

Kent laughed. “You got me there. Yeah, I am the best.”

Jack loved this part of Kent. He loved seeing Kent play his way, charm his way, into being the biggest person in the room. Even when it made Jack feel smaller, there was always a part of him that loved it. “Sure,” was all he said, and he dug his thumb into Kent’s lower back, felt Kent’s muscle push back automatically.

Troy came into the room then, Owens trailing behind him with his face buried in his phone. “Oatmeal raisin cookies,” Troy said by way of greeting, and Kent made a face.

They ate standing up, scarfing the food down so quickly that even Holster was impressed. “God, that’s mediocre,” Kent said, and Jack reached out to flick a crumb off his lip. Kent’s breath stuttered against Jack’s fingertip, and Jack figured this was going to be the best opportunity he’d ever get to sell their relationship. He held onto Kent’s chin, tilting it upward, and kissed him for four seconds, five seconds, six seconds. 

It felt good. It was funny how that was, how it could even possibly feel so good when they were really just friends. Jack licked his lips after pulling away, wondering if he could actually taste oatmeal raisin there or if he were just imagining it. 

“Bow chicka wow wow,” Nursey said, and Jack laughed. Kent laughed too, eyes crinkling. Jack was happy, he realized. Being friends with Kent, having something secret and ridiculous to share with Kent, them against the world. It was how things should be. He was happy.

Owens pulled a flask out of his duffle bag, passed it around. “Victory shots,” he yelled. It was too loud for the small room, echoed a little, but everyone was laughing. Kent had always had a great laugh, better than anyone else Jack had ever met. He took a long swig and handed the bottle to Jack. His lips were wet, and his fingers were warm where they touched Jack’s around the bottle.

“Thanks, Kenny,” Jack said. He thought it would make sense, probably, to kiss Kent again now, but he was nervous. He didn’t know why, but then again he was nervous and self-doubting nine times out of ten. 

Jack took a drink from the bottle, and Kent kissed him.

“Come on, Zimms,” Kent said, minutes later. The bottle had gone around a few more times, and Kent’s hands were warm in Jack’s. “Unzip your hoodie, it’ll make you look way hotter.” He demonstrated, pulling the zipper down and sizing Jack up with his eyes. 

“Better?” Jack asked.

Kent grinned and tugged off Jack’s hat. He turned it sideways on Jack’s head. “Now you’re perfect,” he said.

Jack swatted Kent’s hands away. He fixed his hat, pulled Kent closer by the front of his hoodie and hugged him. “I’m gonna miss you,” he said, and it really was true. He would never have another friend like Kent, because there was nobody else quite as ridiculous and terrible as he was. There was nobody else Jack would be able to flirt with like this, nobody else he would enjoy doing something so stupid with.

“Bye,” Owens said, lingering in the doorway as they began filing out. “I’ll think of you every day, Jack.”

Troy punched him, and Owens waved at Jack and kept walking. 

“This is the best thing ever,” Chowder said, drunk and listing to the side. “I love you, Jack.”

Kent looked at Jack before he left, one glance from the doorway before stepping through. It didn’t feel like a question. More like a promise. They were going to do this. They were going to keep doing this, and there would never be a point. That was the kind of people they were.

“See ya, Kenny,” Jack said, and when Kent turned to wave one last time, Jack saw that his cowlick was drying, curling in all directions. 

Jack stuck his hands in his pockets.


	5. when I feel it, then I feel it too much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Too Much by Carly Rae Jepsen.

The calendar turned to December, and every picture Jack posted on Instagram looked like it had been shared from a horrible arctic tundra. 

_Can’t relate, wore sandals outside today,_ Kent commented on Jack’s latest photo, and in the replies that followed, he somehow found himself inviting two of Jack’s friends to come spend a weekend in Vegas. 

Jack called him twice in a row that evening. Kent ignored both calls, just turned his phone over and kept soaking his feet. He turned on a Real Housewives show he hadn’t seen yet. Jack didn’t call again.

When Kent woke up the next morning, he had another missed call from Jack. “Fine,” he mumbled, and called him back. 

Jack must have been busy -- or giving Kent a taste of his own medicine -- because it went to voicemail. “Hey, Zimms,” Kent said. “Just leaving you a message, because that’s what normal people do when they want someone to call them back. I’m guessing you saw that conversation with me and Lardo and Shitty, which I will say right now wasn’t my fault. I am innocent. But yeah, you should come out here with us next weekend. Get a break from all that snow. And if you don’t come with, you’ll never know what I’ll tell them about you. Call me back!”

In the end, Jack seemed like he was fine with it. Kent could tell he was slightly annoyed, maybe jealous, but whatever. If it got Jack out to Vegas again, Kent was cool with it.

“Nope,” he said when Troy offered to go see a movie that weekend. He felt bad, since he knew Troy was only saying it to be nice. Troy wasn’t the kind of guy who liked romantic musicals, and Kent had spent the whole last two weeks lamenting the fact that nobody wanted to go see this one with him. “I’m going to be entertaining my lover. And a couple of his college buddies. God help me.”

“Parser, you’re weird as shit,” Troy said, and Kent didn’t disagree.

It turned out that Shitty and Lardo couldn’t take Friday off from work, so they had plans to fly in Saturday morning and leave Sunday afternoon. It seemed dumb to Kent, like they should at least leave on Friday night, but he didn’t question it. Jack was arriving Thursday night. 

The first thing Kent made them do once Jack had climbed into the passenger seat was go see that movie. He even let Jack sleep through it, after the first two times he woke Jack up by poking him didn’t keep him awake long-term. 

“How did you like it?” Kent asked afterward. They had just gone through the McDonald’s drive-thru, and he had one hand on the steering wheel so he could hold onto his ice cream cone.

Jack answered, dry. “It was amazing, Parse.”

They went out to lie by the pool, even though it was too cold to swim. Kent was in a thin shirt with long-sleeves, Jack in a short-sleeved shirt because he was a Canadian with something to prove.

“It’s not even sixty degrees out,” Kent said, and Jack dipped his feet in the water.

Sooner than later, it became very apparent that Jack was still exhausted. Kent watched as the stars came out, then as they became brighter, and Jack snored softly next to him.

Kent watched the stars until he couldn’t resist anymore, and then he watched Jack. It had been a long time, but Jack’s eyelids still drooped the same, almost too big for his face. He was beautiful, in a way that passed over into strange, cheekbones too sharp. The soft, steady rise and fall of his chest looked so warm that Kent wanted to cry. He wanted to jump in the pool and freeze. 

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed again, and Kent looked away. He heard Jack yawn, then groan.

“Kenny?”

Kent looked over, and it wasn’t fair. Jack had been sleeping on his side, and now he was sitting up on his elbows. His hair was flat where he’d been lying on it, one side of his face red. His eyes were still a little glazed over, and he wasn’t going to kiss Kent at all tonight.

“Aw, Zimms,” Kent said. He reached forward and prodded Jack’s chest, right in the center, and Jack was still so sleepy he almost tipped right over. “Look at you.”

Jack gave him a dirty look, or at least tried to. His eyes were still only half-open. “So you were just gonna let me sleep all night on the concrete, huh?”

“Sorry,” Kent said. He wasn’t sorry. He stood up and offered a hand to help Jack up. “Wanna help me finish off my leftovers before you go to bed for real? It’s so good, it’s Ecuadorian.”

“Hmm. Maybe.” Jack looked at the pool, and he settled his hands on Kent’s waist, and Kent could see the moment it clicked into Jack’s brain that it would be fun to toss Kent in the pool. “I’m kinda hungry.”

Kent clenched his toes. “Come on, Jack. Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Jack stepped in closer, until his chest was just inches away from Kent’s. 

God. Kent felt like he was blacking out, he wanted Jack so much. And he was not going to be thrown into the pool while he was in the middle of swooning. He still had some dignity, for God’s sake. “Mm,” he said, because it turned out he couldn’t really talk right now.

Jack shifted a little closer to the side of the pool, pulling Kent with him. His fingers flexed against Kent’s sides.

“I really don’t want you to,” Kent said.

And Jack stepped away. The air around Kent felt colder for it, but Kent appreciated the gesture even as he missed Jack’s hands on him. Still, it was uncomfortable. Jack was looking at him, maybe measuring Kent’s mood, checking if Kent was mad at him, and Kent refused to look away.

“Let’s go eat,” Jack said, and he didn’t touch Kent again.

***

Jack’s friends arrived, and the three of them disappeared. Shitty wanted to see the gaudiest parts of the city, Lardo wanted to try the food scene, and Jack went to show them around Vegas while Kent was at practice. 

They were still gone when Kent got back, which was fine at first. But another hour passed, and then another, and Kent was finding it harder and harder not to feel bitter about it. 

_Can’t believe you’re ignoring your boyfriend like this,_ he texted Jack, after he’d already stopped himself five times from texting Jack, and Jack sent him an address for dinner. 

Kent found them on the restaurant’s outdoor patio. They’d saved a spot for him next to Jack, and Kent squeezed Jack’s knee as he sat down even though he knew it was stupid. “Hey,” he said, and lifted up his hand so he could touch Jack’s shoulder. “Have fun without me?”

“We did,” Jack laughed. “Somehow.” He launched into a narration of everything they did that day, and Kent didn’t know if it was because he was distracted by Jack’s face or because Jack just included too many details, but he couldn’t concentrate on a word Jack was saying. 

Shitty and Lardo cut in now and again, adding their own commentary and laughing over each other’s words, and Kent watched how Jack flushed, all happy and wine-drunk, how he seemed more relaxed and himself with these two friends than he’d been with Kent’s teammates, or even with a larger group of Jack’s own friends. 

Jack laughed, talked with his hands, forgot about his food. Kent forgot about his food too, and kind of forgot about his own face while he was at it. He let himself get soft, let his love warm him up and take over everything, because Jack wasn’t looking at him. 

But Shitty was looking at him, Kent realized, and he immediately snapped his gaze away from Jack, down at his plate.

His heart was racing, too fast for him to think rationally. Shit, shit, shit. This whole thing was supposed to be fun. A way to bond with Jack again, and maybe see if Jack was able to view Kent differently in the process. 

It wasn’t meant to make him feel exposed, everything raw and wanting out there for some dude who went by _Shitty_ , of all things, to see. Kent poked at his food with his fork, and after a few minutes went by he excused himself to go find the restroom. Shitty smiled at him as he left the table, all kind and approving in a way that turned Kent’s stomach.

He could see this all in slow-motion -- how he would give too much away, not just with Shitty but with everybody, and how eventually people would find out about the lie. And every single one of these unguarded moments would come back, would add up, and all of these people would know exactly how pathetic Kent really was.

The door to the bathroom opened, and Jack followed him in. 

“What is it?” Kent said. He knew he sounded tired.

Jack looked a little guilty. “I wanted to talk to you while we could be alone. Because -- I don’t know, Kenny. This is really hard. All day, it’s been awful. I hate lying to my friends. I know this whole thing was my idea, and it’s been fun, but can I tell them?”

Kent looked at the bathroom mirror. He didn’t focus on his reflection, just let it all blur together.

“Shitty and Lardo,” Jack clarified, as if he needed to. “Is it okay if I tell them we’re not really dating? I like doing this, we can still play the game with everyone else, but I don’t want to lie to my best friends.”

Kent wondered why Jack had never questioned how easily Kent lied to his own best friends about this. Did he think Kent didn’t care about his friends like Jack did? Did he know, deep down, that Kent just wanted it all to be true?

“No,” Kent said. He sounded mean, unmoved, in a way that didn’t at all reflect how he was feeling. He liked sounding like that.

Jack stared at him. “What?”

“No, you can’t tell your friends.” Kent walked away from the mirror and approached the door. Approached Jack. “This was your thing. I’m doing you a favor, so don’t fuck it up for me. No.” 

He tried to move past Jack, but Jack grabbed his elbow. It wasn’t rough, but Kent still flinched. “I don’t want to lie anymore,” Jack said, low in Kent’s ear.

Kent had been wrong. He thought this was all happening in slow-motion, his inevitable exposure and the pity that came along with it. But it was happening now. Jack was going to make it happen now. 

He loved Jack, but he knew deep in his gut that if Jack let him feel humiliated today, he was going to hate Jack too. “Don’t,” Kent said. “Don’t tell them.”

“This isn’t - “

“I won’t want to see you again if you tell them,” Kent said. “I mean that.” 

He left without looking back, adrenaline propelling him forward. The ball was in Jack’s court now, in every way. But that was how things always were, really, Jack having the power to ruin their friendship or save it, to ruin Kent’s year or to make him feel like he was fucking glowing. 

Well, fuck it. Kent could ruin things too. He watched Jack come back to the table and let himself feel as much petty, ugly vindictiveness as he wanted. Even from a distance, he could see that Jack’s posture was withdrawn, turned in on himself, and instead of feeling guilty he took a sip from his margarita and smiled.

Jack slid back into his seat, and Kent asked Shitty, with as much fake enthusiasm as he could pour on, how he and Lardo had first gotten together. 

As expected, Shitty took forever to tell the story. Kent saw Jack’s hand on the table and pinned it down with his own, twining their fingers together and squeezing tight, and Jack didn’t fight him.

***

They went to a club, somewhere Kent had never been. It was good, at first.

Kent’s adrenaline could only last so long, and by the time they had found a good spot on the dance floor, all he felt when he looked at Jack was the same combination of fondness, dread, and love that he always did, just intensified.

Jack leaned forward to say something in Shitty’s ear, and Kent tensed up. The rainbow lights streamed across them, there one second and then gone. Jack watched another man across the room, just for a few seconds, and Kent wanted to get in front of him, to physically block his view. 

More than anything, Jack avoided looking directly at Kent, and Kent wanted to cry. He downed his fifth drink of the night, which was probably not going to help him in the not-crying department, but at least it gave him the resolve to go dance with Jack instead of just watching.

The crowd was pushing in from all sides. The music was pulsating through every part of Kent’s body, and it was dark enough that he felt safe. He moved closer to Jack, got a hand in Jack’s hair, and pushed up into Jack’s mouth. 

It was exactly what he wanted, the gasp of surprise, the heat of Jack’s tongue, and then Jack pulled away. “Parse, stop,” Jack said. He sounded -- disgusted. Angry.

Kent felt too small to hold all of his emotions at one time. “We’re supposed to be together,” he said, and it sounded more begging. It sounded awful. 

Jack looked at him, looked at his mouth, and Kent walked away to dance with Shitty and Lardo.

They danced, and it was a good time, but it wasn’t enough to distract Kent from all the shit he was feeling. Jack must have felt left out, because eventually he came over and danced next to Kent again, twirling Lardo around again and again even though it didn’t fit the music.

But they were supposed to be together. That was the point of this. Jack must have thought so too, because he came closer and let Kent pull him in by the belt loops, let Kent line up their hips as they danced. Jack’s hands rested on the small of Kent’s back, and they didn’t move. He never looked directly at Kent. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” Kent said, hot with anger after fifteen minutes of this, and he wasn’t sure if Jack could hear him.

Jack was the first to ask if they could leave, and nobody put up a fight. Kent walked behind Lardo and Shitty, Jack trailing close behind, and he watched them hold hands. Lardo lifted her head once, saying something just to Shitty, and Kent watched as Shitty leaned down to hear her better, grazed his hand across the back of her neck in a simple show of affection.

It made Kent feel lonely, kind of defective, and he could only feel that way for so long until he just got angry.

He stumbled over the sidewalk as they walked out of the club. His head was swimming, and the night air was too cold. Jack bumped into him from behind, and Kent’s heart clenched as he felt Jack’s body move away, move around him.

“Zimms,” Kent said, grabbing at Jack’s hand and missing. He tried again, got Jack’s arm. He used it to pull himself closer. “Don’t go home. Tomorrow. You can stay longer, you don’t have anything going on.”

Jack tried to shake him off, but Kent wouldn’t let him. “Parse,” he warned. Kent hated when he talked like that.

“Jack,” he said, trying to use the same voice. He probably didn’t, he probably sounded like he was begging for something, again. He slid his hands around, touched Jack’s chest even though they weren’t in a dark club anymore. “Don’t be a bitch just because you didn’t get your way.”

“Fuck you,” Jack said, loud enough that Kent stepped back automatically. “You -- you can’t let me go five seconds without reminding me that you’re better than me. You’re not fucking better than me, and I don’t need you. I don’t fucking need you.” 

Kent felt lightheaded. There were people all around them, looking and not looking and walking past and overhearing. Shitty and Lardo were right there, why didn’t Jack care about that?

“You do this,” Jack said. His voice was like a knife, too hot and too cold. “You always do this. If you don’t get to be at the center of my life, you try to fuck up everything else in it. What did you think you were going to say to my friends, exactly? They like me, not you. They don’t care about you, you’re not that important.” 

“Drink some water, Zimms, you’re acting like an idiot.” Kent laughed, but he knew it wasn’t convincing. He didn’t even know what argument they were having anymore. This was why he hated fighting with Jack. Kent could be brutal, but Jack could be just as bad, and Jack never even followed a rational path through the fight. Just yelled at Kent for things he didn’t even know Jack was thinking about. 

Lardo was next to Kent. She put her hand on his arm. “We can stay at a hotel tonight,” she said quietly, and Kent’s heart squeezed even though he’d already known this was coming. “Not in a bad way, just -- this needs to end. You know?”

 _No,_ Kent thought. He never wanted things with Jack to end. He was stupid like that. “Whatever,” he said. “See you later, Zimmermann. Talk to me when you’re done taking all your insecurities out on me, because this shit is pathetic.”

Shitty stepped between them, and God, Kent hated him. Irrationally, intensely, hated him for being Jack’s best friend, for being Bittle’s friend, for his stupid mustache. “Jack, our Uber’s here,” Shitty said, and more than anything Kent hated him for getting Jack to walk away.

Kent got his own Uber home. _Are we still friends?_ he thought about texting, but didn’t. Maybe he should wait for Jack to call him first. Jack didn’t call.

He stripped off and fell into bed. Jack didn’t call. 

He woke up and stared at the ceiling until he’d be too late to practice.

And Jack didn’t call.


	6. you're such a heart attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Hate That You Know Me by Bleachers.

“Did Parser and his boyfriend break up?” Benson whispered. They were spread out around a few different tables for breakfast at the hotel, but he kept his voice low enough that no one but Owens could hear him.

“Benny, shut the fuck up.” Owens slapped Benson’s hand and took half of the pancakes off his plate. “You’re not even in the know.”

Benson paused. Was he not supposed to know about this? “Uh, I mean -- are Parser and Zimmermann fighting? Like friends fight?” 

Owens glared at him, which sucked because the only reason Benson had picked him to ask in the first place was that he thought Owens was the nice one. “You don’t get to talk about this, rookie. Eat your breakfast.” 

Benson shut up. He took a bite of his eggs. They didn’t taste very good because he felt so discouraged, but he went back for thirds. 

***

It sucked, because Parser was super nice. Like, he still gave Benson the wrong room numbers and times for team bonding stuff, and he was totally there when the guys put cottage cheese in all the rookies’ bags, but he also knew the names of everyone in Benson’s family and bought him a drink for his twenty-first, just the two of them. 

Benson knew he wasn’t supposed to talk about it, or even think about it, but he was sick of seeing Parser with red eyes all the time. He was sick of seeing Parser staring hopelessly at his phone in the locker room. 

So he tried. Maybe he wasn’t close enough to Parser to help him feel better about the whole breaking up with his boyfriend thing, but at least he was doing something. “Hey,” Benson said after the game. Parser was sitting on the locker room bench with one of his shoes on, the other off, and he’d kind of been sitting like that for awhile. “Wanna come to my room and watch a movie? Me and the other rookies do it. Could be fun, eh?”

Parser looked up. Goddamnit, his eyes were kind of red again. “Huh? Oh. Uh, sure. Yeah. What movie?” 

Shit, he had no idea. He tried to think of something Parser might like. “Oh! The Holiday. For, like, Christmas.” It was only December 5th, but whatever. And he didn’t know exactly what reaction he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t Parser flinching. “Or we don’t have to watch that. No Christmas movies? How about… uh… When Harry Met Sally?”

Parser liked that movie. Benson knew for a fact that Parser liked that movie.

“Sorry, I think I’m too beat to stay up for a movie,” Parser said. His eyes looked glassy as he stared back down at his shoes.

Fuck. Benson broke Parser.

***

The next day, Troy sent him a pre-approved list of all movies he was allowed to invite Parser to. It was probably a chirp, but Benson appreciated it nonetheless. 

None of the movies were romantic.

“So they’re over for real?” Benson asked the next day, catching Troy by himself after practice.

Troy glared at him, then looked around to make sure they were truly alone. “Keep it down, kid. And -- no. Just had a fight.” 

Benson wasn’t convinced. Parser wasn’t acting like someone who’d just had a fight. “Okay. But if there’s anything I can do to help, let me - “

“Go home, Benny,” Troy said, and that was that. 

***

Until Benson went out to the team’s favorite diner to get some carry-out and saw Troy, Owens, and Scrappy huddled at a table, looking exactly how he imagined a group of guys would look if they were plotting a murder. 

He shook his head at a server who asked if he would like to be seated. “No, my group’s over there,” he said, and proceeded to creep up behind them as subtly as he could.

“ -- just need to trick them into being alone together for more than - ” Troy looked up. “Jesus, Benson! Are you stalking me?”

Benson ignored him. He was too busy looking at the sheet of paper in front of Owens, where **Project Turn Fake Dating to Real Love** was scrawled across the top in black marker. “Soooo, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Scrappy said. “Just enjoying some brews with the bros. But we’re almost done here. You should totally join in next time.”

Their beer mugs had hardly been touched, but Benson was focused on the paper. “Fake Parser’s death?” he read aloud. “What the hell?”

Owens turned the sheet over and glared at Scrappy.

“I thought it would work,” Scrappy said.

Benson made a decision. He wasn’t sure if it was smart, but whatever. “Tell me what’s happening or I’m telling Parser.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Troy said immediately, but Owens was giving him a considering look.

He wasn’t sure if he should stand his ground or make a run for the door, but then Owens kicked out a chair. “Well, then. Sit down.”

Benson sat down.

“You’re an asshole for doing this, but you’ve given us no other choice,” Owens continued. “Okay. So we’re coming up with ideas for making Zimmermann and Parser get their shit together and date for real. What do you got?” 

“Oh, were they just - “ Benson wasn’t sure what language would be acceptable here. “Uh. Were they just hooking up before? Casual?” That was kind of sad. He wasn’t, like. Parser’s bosom buddy or anything, but it was pretty damn obvious how intense Parser’s feelings about Jack Zimmermann were.

Owens stared at him. “How do you -- oh, fine. I’ll cut you some slack here, Benny, because you’re a rookie and not even the brightest rookie on our team. They are huge, dirty, rotten liars. Very bad liars, too. They weren’t really together. It was a lie.”

Benson looked around the table. No one was laughing, but he couldn’t process this as anything but a joke. “Okay? Good one, I guess. Not your best rookie prank, but still not the worst.”

“Do we know Parser better than you do, Benny? Do we know his history with Zimmermann better than you?” Troy said. He didn’t wait for Benson to answer. “So shut up. We might not be able to understand Parser’s motive for lying, because he is kind of a wild card who does dumb shit all the time for no good reason anyway, but he is absolutely one-hundred percent lying.”

“So, again,” Owens said, “We need ideas to make them realize their love is real. What do you got?”

Benson remembered how Parser had flinched at the idea of watching romantic movies. He remembered Parser’s red eyes. “Sorry, I just -- this is weird. I have to process this. Are you sure it was fake?” He ignored Troy’s groan. “I mean, Parser just seems really sad.”

Scrappy patted Benson’s arm. “That’s because Parser doesn’t have to fake anything. You know?”

Oh. Benson looked around the table. They were definitely not pranking him. Probably. “Got it. Then, yeah. Let me see the list.”

It was really a stupid list, actually. Benson was glad they weren’t this shitty at coming up with strategies in hockey. 

“As you can see,” Owens said, “we have a lot of good options.”

Benson handed the list back to him. “Wait until you hear about my grandpa’s cabins.”

***

There were details to arrange. Zimmermann had to be invited, and in order for Zimmermann to accept, his college friends had to be invited too.

Benson invited Parser. “It’ll be, like, a super cool team bonding experience. We need you there, we need our captain.”

“You don’t need to beg,” Parser said, even though he was looking happier by the second. “Sheesh. Sure, bro, I’ll be there. What days again?”

They were leaving the day after Christmas, which the whole league had off, and staying just one night so they could get back in time for their practice on the 28th. It was kind of crazy, flying out to Maine and then driving six hours to the Chic-Choc Mountains just for one night, but Benson’s family owned three cabins there. Maybe even more importantly, it was a few hours away from where Parser and Zimmermann had played in Juniors together, which Benson thought was kind of nice.

Troy said they shouldn’t invite Jack directly, because he would be conflict-avoidant or something and not want to be where Parser was. Benson thought that was kind of lame, and Parser should hold out for someone who was willing to fight for their love or whatever, but he didn’t get why Parser had a whole extra locker just for his shoes either, so maybe it was better not to worry. 

“You’ve got to get to him through his friends,” Troy said, and it turned out to be true when all five of Zimmermann’s college buddies signed on without even stopping to check if Zimmermann was officially going.

The last challenge was Zimmermann himself. 

As it turned out, he didn’t even need to be invited. He just called Parser when they were in the middle of a Monopoly game at Parser’s house, presumably so he could bitch Parser out for inviting all his friends to go to Canada without him.

Benson was at Parser’s house too when it happened. No big deal, just hanging out with the captain and his three best friends who were pretty much the coolest guys on the team. That was what happened when you were “super instrumental” -- Owens’ words -- in a secret romance plan. Benson knew the other rookies were jealous. 

“Shit,” Parser said when his phone rang, and rolled off the couch so he could answer from his room. The other guys stopped talking immediately, frozen in place so they weren’t making any noise, and tried to listen. They could only hear bits and pieces whenever Parser forgot to lower his voice.

“I don’t know, it wasn’t my idea - ”

“ -- it’s not like you have to go, but don’t - “

“ -- classic, you’re just going to pretend I don’t exist again, you’ve clearly grown up a lot - “

Benson put a pillow over his face. 

“Sorry, just -- why can’t you come with? It’d be weird if you don’t.” There was a pause, and Parser appeared in the doorway. “Hold on, Jack -- Hey, you guys can leave. Fucking eavesdroppers. I love you, bye.”

They left, not really leaving, just hanging out on the driveway. Scrappy and Troy started competing to see who could spit a longer distance. Benson joined in, but they kicked his ass.

“God,” Owens finally said. “I’m gonna be so fucking sad if Parser is sad again.”

Finally, Parser stuck his head out the front door. “Freaks. Come back in. He’s coming with us.”

“What’s up!” Troy yelled, and Scrappy and Owens jumped into each others’ arms. Benson was pretty sure he had been upgraded from rookie status by now, so he jumped into their hug too.

“We gotta make sure Parser and Jack do the driving part together, just them,” Owens whispered while they were in the hug. Benson didn’t know how the guy could be in plotting mode all the time, but he tried to keep up. “They’ll either kill each other or make up, their choice. And at this point we can’t ask for anything better than that.”

“Car sex,” Scrappy said.

Owens nodded. “Yes! Okay, let’s break. Team on three -- one, two, three, team!”

Benson stepped back, head reeling. He was part of the team.


	7. why don't you come a little closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Rollercoaster by Bleachers.

The agreement had been two rental cars. Two. 

Kent’s friends had gone off to get the cars, and now they were pulling into the airport parking lot with three.

“Oh my god, can they not count?” Kent said, exasperated, and Jack tried to ignore him. It was harder than he remembered it being, but there was still a weight in his brain, something heavy and loud telling him to punish Kent for last time. 

He’d probably stop soon.

It was hard to ignore Kent for a lot of reasons, but right now the most pressing was that there was something weird going on with Kent’s teammates, and Jack wanted to check if Kent had noticed too. They’d been acting off ever since they joined Jack, Shitty, Lardo, Ransom, Holster, and Chowder at the Boston airport, whispering to each other and staring at Jack too much. 

He wanted to tell one of his friends, _Something’s going on,_ but he didn’t want Kent to talk to him, and he didn’t want to be wrong. But something was going on.

“The agreement was two cars, dudes,” Shitty yelled once the other guys had parked.

Owens just shrugged. Not at all the way a person would react if they’d been caught making a stupid mistake, and Jack gritted his teeth. Something was going on. “We changed it. So now it’s one car for the happy group of college friends with no serious interpersonal drama to sort out - “ he handed one key to Shitty -- “one car for the awesome Vegas dudes with no romantic conflict to sort through - “ he stuck one key in his own pocket -- “and lastly, one car for the best friends-slash-lovers who need to figure some shit out one way or the other.” And he tossed the third key to Kent, who caught it with one hand, stony-faced.

Jack waited for his friends to tell Owens to fuck off, but instead Shitty just tilted his head. “Confer,” he said, gesturing at the Samwell crew. 

The second they were huddled up together, Jack found his voice again. “No,” he said, harsh and low.

“Jack,” Lardo whispered. She wasn’t really looking at him, more at Shitty. “Have you talked to Parse at all? You know, since then?”

“Yes,” Jack said, flushing like he was lying even though they had spoken on the phone. One time, but still. 

Shitty was scrubbing one hand furiously through his mustache. “I mean -- I don’t want to fuck you over here, dude. You don’t have to do this. But are you and Parse really going to talk it out if you aren’t stuck in a car together for six hours? Really?”

They’d had fights before. They never talked it out. They hadn’t needed to, had just fallen back together without a word, and then later had stopped talking altogether. 

Now, Jack wasn’t sure they could get away with that anymore. 

“I don’t know,” he said. Maybe he should have lied. “Probably not.”

“Are you okay with that?” Ransom asked, and Jack lost his voice again.

No, he wasn’t okay with that. 

Fuck.

“I’m driving,” he said, pulling away from his group and holding his palm out to Kent. “It’s my country.”

Kent stared at him, then looked back at his friends. He hadn’t really had a chance to decide for himself if he wanted to do this, Jack realized a moment too late, but Kent was never going to turn down a chance to be alone with Jack.

And Jack knew that. In a private corner of his mind, where he never let himself look to closely at anything, he knew that. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Kent said. He didn’t give Jack the key. That was predictable too, and Jack got into the passenger seat without complaining and waited for Kent to load up their suitcases. 

“Bro, we’re gonna eat first,” Troy called as Kent opened the driver’s side door, and Kent just stuck his middle finger out. 

Jack waited for Kent to start the engine, then rolled down his window. “See you in a bit,” he said to his friends. He might as well get this over with. Before they could say anything back, or before Jack could rethink this plan, the tires squealed and the car was moving.

“You still drive like shit,” Jack mumbled, grabbing at the armrest. 

Kent said nothing. 

They were driving. 

***

After thirty minutes, they stopped at a Taco Bell drive-thru. They still hadn’t spoken to each other, and Jack was getting sick of Kent’s radio stations.

“Let me drive,” he said, not looking at Kent. They were tearing through their burritos in the Taco Bell parking lot, and Jack had forgotten how gross these things were. 

Kent balled up his wrappings and dropped them back in the bag. He didn’t answer, but he got out of the car and started walking around to Jack’s side. Jack got out too, moved around Kent carefully so they weren’t touching. He got in the driver’s seat and adjusted it; his legs were longer.

It felt good to drive. Jack had been avoiding Canada lately, what with his parents living there and wanting to talk about his love life, but it felt good to drive here, specifically. It didn’t matter how symbolic most of the differences were; this was his home. 

He drove carefully, more carefully than Kent had. The roads were icy. Kent didn’t say anything, because they were in the middle of a long game of chicken, but Jack knew Kent wanted to say something.

“Do you remember when we got in a fight because I wanted to tell people about us?” Jack said finally. He didn’t know why. 

Kent breathed in so quickly that Jack could hear it, even over the soft country rock he was playing. “Yeah,” Kent said. He didn’t say anything else. Jack looked at him, and Kent looked smaller, more closed-in than normal. 

“Hey,” Jack said, and Kent didn’t look at him. “I mean -- why is that, do you think? Because I’ve been thinking, and this time our fight is about me wanting to tell people that we’re _not_ together. Kind of weird how that works out, eh?”

“Are you trying to be funny or deep, Jack?” Kent said. He sounded tired. “I can’t really tell.”

Jack wanted to look over at Kent again, but he kept his eyes on the road. It was safer that way. “I’m just thinking about it. Can you believe I actually wanted to come out to our friends? God, I was so naive.” 

“You were fine,” Kent said. 

Kent hadn’t been naive, Jack thought. He’d always been a little sharper at the edges, cutthroat when it really counted. He didn’t just expect things to work out the way Jack had.

But then, he’d been waiting for Jack when Jack got out of rehab. “I’ll always be waiting for you,” Kent had said then, all hope and sweetness, and maybe he was naive in a different way.

“It’s weird,” Jack went on. His heart was beating fast. “You’re so much more outgoing than me, but it’s like I’m the one who can’t really keep things to myself. Do you think that’s accurate?”

Kent turned off the radio, frustrated and abrupt. He finally turned to look at Jack, and Jack looked back. 

Kent’s eyes shadows in his face, his mouth turned down. He was resigned, and angry, and Jack would swear he was every bit as hopeful as he’d been when they were kids. 

“I think you’re the one who always wants things to change,” Kent said, and Jack could see his point.

They drove in silence. It was uncomfortable now that the music was off, but neither of them turned it back on.

“I think I know why we’re fighting,” Jack said, and even with his eyes on the road he could see Kent twitch. “Why we always fight.”

“Feel free to share.”

Jack ignored Kent’s tone. It was easier to do that when he thought about how much Kent cared, even if Kent wasn’t showing it. He wished it was always this easy to remember that. “We fight because I hurt you when we were kids. There are other reasons, but that’s the main one.”

Kent was quiet. Then -- “What the fuck, Zimms? Can’t we just go to a stupid cabin and trick our friends? Why does it have to - “

He stopped, turned sharply to look out the window, and Jack’s heart lurched. He touched Kent’s hand where it was resting in his lap, and Kent pulled away.

“What do you mean?” Kent finally said.

“Do you trust me?” Jack asked.

Kent rolled down the window, then rolled it back up. “I dunno,” he said. “What does that even mean?”

Jack thought about their last fight, Kent panicking when their new excuse for spending time together was about to be ruined. He thought about another fight, Kent crowding into his space while a college party raged downstairs. “I treated you like a temporary thing,” he said, “and you’ve never forgotten it. So I’m asking, how can we be friends if you don’t trust me? You have to trust that we can be friends, really friends, and I won’t throw it away as soon as you annoy me.”

“I’m never annoying,” Kent said. He was picking at a thread in his jeans. Jacks’ heart swelled, painful and tender. 

“Maybe not every second,” he allowed, and Kent laughed in surprise, socking Jack on the shoulder. “Ow! Come on, Kenny.”

Kent laughed again, and Jack buzzed with satisfaction. They were friends again, even if they still had to be careful with each other. He hit Kent back, playful on the leg, and turned the music back on.

It was kind of awful, one of those country songs that bragged about being a redneck, and Jack didn’t change the station. 

“You know I was in love with you back then, right?” Kent said, and Jack’s heart pounded louder than the shitty music. “Like. If we’re talking about trust.”

Jack pulled over.

“Jesus Christ, Zimms, don’t fucking pull over. We’re not -- I just figured, if we’re talking about why we fight so much. That’s why. Like, not just you leaving, but because I made everything bigger than it was. I wouldn’t let you be different from what I wanted you to be. It’s not just on you.”

 _Back then_ , Kent had said. 

Jack swallowed. “We’re ridiculous, aren’t we?”

Kent touched Jack’s shoulder. It felt odd, their body positioning in the car making everything unnatural. Jack put his hand over Kent’s hand anyway, warm and familiar.

“Speak for yourself, Zimmermann,” Kent said, and Jack laughed. He looked straight at Kent, and he felt his chest go soft just seeing how transparently happy Kent was to have made him laugh.

Jack curled his fingers over the back of Kent’s hand and saw Kent flush. “Can we just get out?” Jack asked. “It’s been too long since I gave you a real hug.”

“Ridiculous,” Kent muttered, but he was smiling as he rubbed his hand over his face. He didn’t seem like he was going to get out of the car, so Jack did.

Tapping on Kent’s window, Jack gestured. “Get out here,” he said, trying to be loud enough for Kent to hear through the glass. 

Kent wrinkled his nose, everything about it an act, and Jack grabbed his elbow as he climbed out of the car. “Zimms, you are the cheesiest person I’ve probably ever met,” Kent began, and Jack tucked his arms around Kent’s waist.

He wasn’t a complete stranger to Kent’s body, not by any means. Even recently, he had been pressed up against Kent in the pool, their skin soaking wet and touching every inch of the way down. He’d kissed Kent there, bit into his mouth against the cool plastic of a refrigerator, felt the heat of his body dancing in a club. 

That was all fake, and this was real. Jack could feel the difference immediately, and even though it was only a hug he had to close his eyes against a rush of tears. “Kenny,” he whispered, knowing he was moments away from uttering complete nonsense. He tried to rein it back in. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” Kent said back, hoarse and obviously close to tears too. He was lying, but Jack didn’t press. “I - “ He pressed his face against Jack’s collarbone, stopped talking. 

If things were different, Jack could smooth his fingers through Kent’s hair, hold his face in both hands and kiss him until Kent couldn’t breathe. Jack was surprised by how easily he saw this, but he wasn’t surprised by how much he wanted it. 

Maybe he’d never stopped. 

“This is all I want to do,” he said, not giving himself away completely but still too honest for his own good, and Kent laughed through his nose.

“It’s gonna take us an extra hour to get there,” Kent warned. 

They had been something at seventeen. They had been something different at twenty-one, twisted up with pain and resentment. Twisted up with Kent’s hope, Jack’s jealousy. 

They had been something different a month ago, a week ago, yesterday. Jack didn’t know what they’d be in the future. But he knew, as deeply as he knew how good Kent felt in his arms, as familiar as Kent’s words punching holes through him when Kent wanted them to -- Kent was different now, and Kent was the same now, and Kent would never stop being someone Jack wanted. 

Maybe, that wouldn’t be enough. Jack didn’t know.

“Zimms, you’re gonna make me cry,” Kent said, and Jack closed his eyes. He allowed himself to touch Kent’s hair, just once. 

Then -- he stepped away. “I’ll drive another couple hours,” he said, and when Kent fell asleep an hour and a half later Jack didn’t wake him up.


	8. the writing's on the wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Real Love by Carly Rae Jepsen.

Kent hugged Swoops the second he got out of the car. He hung on tight, wouldn’t let go even when Swoops tried to wiggle away.

“Freak,” Swoops said.

“Thank you.” Kent was talking into Swoops’ shoulder, emotional and kind of embarrassed about it. “Like -- seriously. Thank you.”

Swoops finally pushed him off, in a mostly nice way. “So it worked? You’re on again?”

Kent glanced at where Jack was dragging their suitcases out of the trunk. His hair was plastered across his forehead the wrong way. His winter coat was more like a parka, and it wasn’t flattering at all. 

Kent felt his heart rate climb and climb, and he had to tug his scarf up to hide his smile. Jesus. Jack.

“Okay, cool,” Swoops said. “Keep it in your pants, though.”

“Parser!” Benny yelled, galloping over to them. Jesus, Kent kind of loved the kid, but he was operating on a whole other level of cluelessness. “Here’s your key. It’s the tiny cabin, sorry it has no heat, I promise you’ll love the fireplace. If you can start a fire. But you’ll still love looking at the fireplace even if you can’t, it’s super badass. Wanna check it out?”

Kent took the key. It was hanging on a loop of rope. This place was fucking nuts, and he loved it. “Sure, man. You really stuck me in this little cabin all by - “ He stopped, stared at Benny. Things clicked into place. “Et tu, Benson?”

“You’re literally dating, Parser,” Troy said. “Don’t act like we’re fucking you over or something.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t know we were going to patch things up! What if the car ride was a disaster?”

Swoops rolled his eyes at Kent, then raised his voice. “Zimmermann! Come check out your digs!” 

“Jack, you’re staying with me in the cabin of isolation,” Kent said, turning around. “Guess they got sick of all the PDA. Sorry, guys.”

Jack tugged Kent’s hat off and ruffled his hair, sending goosebumps down his neck. He wasn’t sure if it was more from the cold wind or Jack’s touch, but he caught Jack’s hand and held on. “Cool,” Jack said, and when he smiled down at Kent it seemed totally genuine.

“Cool,” Kent echoed. He took his own suitcase from Jack so he could carry it, because their fake relationship was a relationship of equals, and he led Jack over to unlock the cabin door.

Kitchen, bathroom, bedroom. That was it. There wasn’t a fridge or anything in the kitchen, just shelves, a gas stove, and a table, and the bathroom was really just a creepy old-fashioned tub, not hooked up to anything for actual water. 

“What are we supposed to take a bath in?” Kent demanded. “Our imagination?”

“Maybe we’re supposed to heat water up on the stove and then bring it in here,” Jack said. He looked at Kent, dumbfounded, and they both started laughing. 

They stopped laughing when they looked in the bedroom and saw that there was only one bed. 

Kent didn’t even notice the fireplace. “Okay, there’s a lot of blankets in here,” he said, immediately opening up the wardrobe and poking around. “Is this, like, an animal skin? Whatever, it’s fine. So one of us can sleep in the bed and the other one can take more blankets and do alright on the floor.”

“What, you don’t want to share with your boyfriend?” Jack said, in this weird teasing voice, and Kent’s brain was still short-circuiting when Scrappy knocked on the open door.

“Huh?” Kent said, and he whirled around. Hopefully his face didn’t look insane. “Yeah?”

“We’re going skiing,” Scrappy said. “Did you bring yours?”

Kent stared at him. “No?” He grabbed Jack’s wrist, not really thinking. “Did you - ?”

“Sorry, I mean you can totally borrow the ones here, Benson’s grandpa had the place totally stocked” Scrappy said. “Should have said that earlier. Come on, let’s go!”

They were in the mountains, and Kent had never been good at downhill skiing. It seemed like a sport entirely designed to break his legs, and he was kind of using those for hockey. Jack was one of those obnoxious Canadians who knew how to perform every winter sport flawlessly, and Kent saw very clearly that he was about to be left behind. 

“I’m going with,” he said to Jack as he clicked a ski onto his boot outside the main cabin, “but I don’t like skiing.”

“You’re terrible at skiing,” Jack said.

Kent put his gloves on and reached out to hold Jack’s hand. It was nice, being around everyone else again. Jack squeezed his hand and pulled him close enough to kiss the top of his head.

It could only last for a little while, though, because as soon as they got moving Kent fell behind the rest of the group. 

“Don’t go with them,” he snapped, holding Jack’s arm too tight, and Jack looked wistfully at the others who were actually good at skiing, but he stayed.

Kent trudged through the snow for about fifteen minutes, and it only took ten of those minutes for Jack to give up asking him to at least try going down one of the big hills. 

“I thought you were a natural athlete,” Jack tried one last time.

“Fuck you, Zimms. Reverse psychology won’t work on me.” Kent gave up. He sat down in the snow and grabbed at his boots. “Jesus fucking Christ, how do these things come off? Who designed these? Zimms!”

Jack was looking down at him with a weird mix of fondness and also like Kent was the dumbest person on the planet. “You just -- here, let me.” Jack gestured for Kent to stick his foot out, and he grabbed at Kent’s boot once it was at his waist-level. 

A minute later, Kent was ski-free. “Thank god. Okay, do you wanna walk around and look at the snow in the trees?” Casual, casual. Not like he was only suggesting it because he remembered how Jack always wanted to do that during their old winters together, how he’d take shitty pictures on his cell phone camera every time. 

“I don’t know why, I just do,” Jack had said then, when Kent had asked why he liked doing something so boring, and Kent had watched how Jack’s eyes went all dreamy and sad when he stared up at the branches.

Now, Jack smiled. “Do you remember how we used to do that?”

Kent tucked his skis under his arm and stood up. “Yeah. Is that still your thing?”

“I try to. Sometimes I don’t think of it, or I don’t have time, but I’ll go for quiet walks by myself when I can. It’s been a long time since I did that with someone else, though.” The way Jack was looking at him -- Kent’s stomach felt like it was actually full of butterflies. What the hell. “Most people just want to talk when we’re walking.” 

Ugh. Kent waited while Jack unclicked his skis so they could walk together, and he tried not to fall into a bad mood just because Jack was basically telling him he didn’t want to talk at all. There was a positive side to this, he reminded himself. Jack didn’t do this with other people. This was just for them. 

So he let Jack lead the way into a dense grouping of trees, and he tried to care about the snow piled onto their branches. It wasn’t that hard to fake when he probably felt the same way about Jack’s face as Jack did about the stupid trees.

They reached one particular tree, framed perfectly with the sunlight pouring through its branches and making the snow sparkle, and Kent couldn’t even hide how he watched Jack. He took in the way Jack’s mouth fell just slightly open, how his eyes scanned back and forth like he was reading instead of just looking at a tree. Somehow, his face was washed out by the harsh sunlight and flushed pink with cold at the same time. He was beautiful, Kent thought, beautiful in exactly Jack’s way of being beautiful. 

It hurt Kent’s chest, looking at Jack too much. He looked until Jack looked back, and then he pretended to look at the tree.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jack had promised him, once when they gotten into a stupid argument about their grades and once a week before the draft. That had been bullshit, as it turned out, but here Jack was again. “I’m not going anywhere,” Jack had promised today, holding Kent on the side of the road. Kent wanted to believe it.

Jack touched him, now, his bulky winter glove brushing against Kent’s. “Hey,” he said. “Thanks for doing this with me.”

Kent’s mouth was dry. He couldn’t look directly at Jack, but he could picture him so easily -- the solidness of his body, the dark hair flopping out from under his winter hat, the way his icy blue eyes turned warmer when he was being sincere like this. 

Jack’s hand moved up to Kent’s shoulder, resting there uncertainly, like Kent might pull away. Kent snuck one look up, and he almost startled backward at how intensely Jack was searching his face.

Kent licked his lips, and he saw Jack track the movement.

It was easy not to kiss him. Kent had ignored the urge a thousand times, when they were teenagers surrounded by people and when they weren’t speaking and when they were adults trying to be friends again. He might say something ridiculous, or start a fight, or take a step backward. 

There was no one else around to justify it. Kent stepped in, looped his arms around Jack’s neck, and Jack leaned down so fast that Kent swayed backward, almost losing his balance in the deep snow as Jack kissed him with an open mouth.

He tried to curl his fingers in Jack’s hair and remembered he was wearing gloves. He tore the gloves off. Jack pulled him closer, careless and wild, and Kent felt it like a cloud of joy he could actually float on, like the inside of his brain flashing white. 

They pulled apart to breathe. Kent wanted to be closer again, immediately, but he could still feel Jack’s breath when their mouths were an inch apart like this. 

Still, he tried to be careful. He needed to be, with Jack. “Should we - “

Jack hauled him in by the back of the neck, and Kent’s heart raced to the point that he was weak from it, clutching at Jack’s shoulders to stay standing. 

He was so in love with Jack. He knew that already. The thought filled him up, stabbed him a little, made its own wound feel better. He was in love with Jack, and that was the way it should be.

And Jack was still there, one arm slung around Kent’s back and the other warm and secure against Kent’s chest. His mouth was wet. Kent’s knees were tingling. Jack was so raw here, kissing him like it was the most obvious thing in the world to desire him, and when they finally stopped Kent couldn’t breathe. He just blinked, again and again.

“Do you want to head back?” Jack said, head ducked down. 

Kent missed him. He put his gloves back on, fingers aching. “Uh-huh,” he said, and he was glad that his voice sounded higher than normal, hoarser than normal. He hoped Jack heard that as the confession that it was.

They walked back to the cabins, Kent aware of Jack’s body every step of the way, and they didn’t talk about it. Jack showered first, and Kent buzzed around in his skin until it was his turn.

He got out of the shower, and the rest of the group was back.

Jack smiled at him. He patted the spot next to him on the couch, and went back to listening to Chris Chow talk about work like Kent wasn’t the most interesting person in the room. 

_Look at me,_ Kent thought, emotion acidic in his mouth, _for once, don’t act like it’s easy to take your eyes off me._

Jack smiled at him, then turned back to Chow again. Kent rested his head on Jack’s shoulder so Jack couldn’t see his face.

He needed to understand that things weren’t going to change. He didn’t know why it was so hard to accept that.

***

Dinner was at the main cabin, burgers and roasted vegetables that Benny and Shitty had worked on together. It wasn’t half bad, actually.

There weren’t enough of the rickety old dining chairs at the table, so they pulled up one of the easy chairs and Kent sat on Jack’s lap. It felt way too nice, Jack’s arm hooked lazily around Kent’s front to keep him close, his thumb rubbing against Kent’s ribs. 

“Hands off my burger, Kenny,” Jack said in his ear, and Kent took a big bite just to be an asshole. He almost choked on it when he felt Jack press his nose against his shoulder. 

Swoops was smirking at him from across the table. Kent narrowed his eyes at him, tilted his head back to kiss Jack all gross and wet, but Swoops just kept looking all smug. 

“Get out of my face,” Kent said eventually, and he could swear the smirking was coming from, like, four different people. “You’re literally all so annoying.”

He let Jack finish his vegetables for him, and Jack let him take a few more bites from his burger before touching Kent’s wrist. “Enough, Kenny,” Jack said, a little quiet, and Kent put his hands in his lap so no one could see his fingers shaking. 

They all moved back to the living room after dinner, full and sleepy. It was pitch black outside, and Ransom suggested going out to look at the stars, but everyone else thought it was too cold. 

Kent let Jack pull him onto his lap again, leaning back on Jack’s chest and tucked into the V of his legs on the couch. They were taking up too much space, but Kent didn’t care. He was wrapped up in Jack; everyone else could kiss his ass. 

“The only thing that could make this night better would be a hot fudge sundae,” Kent mumbled later. He was vaguely aware that he was interrupting someone, but he wanted Jack to know what he was thinking about.

“Only if my dad makes it,” Jack agreed. “With all the candy and nuts and stuff.”

Kent closed his eyes. He could hear the wind howling outside the window, or maybe that was his imagination. Jack was so warm, pressed up behind him. “Oh my god, yeah. Is Bob looking for work? Something part-time? I want him to live in my house and make me his famous hot fudge sundae, like, once a week. So good.”

“I’ll let him know.”

“Thanks, appreciate it. I mean, don’t tell your mom. I don’t want her to feel bad. She tries, with the artichoke dip and stuff, but if I have to pick it’s always gonna be chocolate. Hey, did she hear back about that revival season of her old show? That would be so lit, I wanna see Alicia on my TV again.”

Jack laughed. It felt nice, rumbling against Kent’s back. “Still in negotiations. It’s a long shot anyway, because she’d only do it if the money was actually good, so - “

“Oh my god, are you aware that there are other people in this room trying to have a conversation?” Owens waved his hands at them. “Do we exist? Can you not talk over us?” 

“Sorry,” Jack said, and Kent traced the lines of Jack’s palms until Jack swatted him away. “Actually, I might want to go to bed soon. I think this one needs it too.”

This one. Jack was talking about him. Kent tried not to glow, or whatever, because he knew his friends would think he was an idiot for the rest of his life if he went all weak over one little phrase. 

“Aw,” Scrappy said. “I think Parser’s blushing.”

“Whatever,” Kent said. His face felt hot. “Shut up. Yeah, let’s go to bed.”

They left, Lardo singing “Bow chicka wow wow” behind them, and Kent had half a hope that Jack would kiss him under the stars, something like that, but it didn’t happen. They just unlocked their cabin, changed into pajamas in separate rooms, and kept adding more lighter fluid until the logs were burning. 

Kent honestly knew his camping shit, so he coaxed the flames into something steady and low before stepping back. “There. Take that, Boy Scouts.”

The fire wasn’t going to burn all night, but it would at least make their room a little warmer. That, the blankets, and the heavy insulation in the walls should keep them nice and warm, theoretically.

In reality, it was fucking freezing. Kent made himself a little blanket nest on the floor, and when he crawled in it didn’t feel even close to warm enough.

“You good?” Jack asked. All the lights were out, the flickering from the logs dancing across the walls in a way that was both beautiful and eerie.

“Just gotta wait for my body heat to warm the blankets up, then I’ll be all set,” Kent said, trying not to sound like he was shivering. He wondered how the bed was, but he didn’t ask. 

The room grew quiet. Kent knew Jack wasn’t sleeping, unless Jack had gone to a really good sleep doctor in the years since they’d shared a room, since he snored like the devil. Kent stared at the ceiling. He pulled the fur blanket thing around his shoulders tighter, and he waited, and he didn’t get any warmer.

“I’m cold,” Jack said, finally.

“Same.” Kent looked at the fire. Moving any closer wouldn’t be safe, but it was tempting. He looked at the dim outline of Jack in the bed. Same story there, really. “This sucks. Why did we get stuck with the shitty cabin? I’m literally Benny’s elder. And his captain.”

Jack shifted around. The mattress creaked. “I think you should come up here. It’s going to be a miserable night, otherwise.”

Kent could think of so many reasons that was a bad idea. And he was pretty sure they could knock on one of the other cabins’ doors, tell their friends they didn’t want to freeze to death in the Canadian winter, and sleep soundly in a place that had actual heat. 

Instead, he picked up his blankets and climbed into bed with Jack. “Thanks, Zimms.” There was plenty of room for both of them, but he inched in until they were touching. “Okay, now warm me up.”

Jack snickered, right in Kent’s face, and before Kent could even get over that, Jack was tucking the blankets carefully around them, finding Kent’s hands under the covers and rubbing them to get warm.

“Thanks,” Kent choked out. His heart was beating so hard he could feel it in the pillow. He wondered if Jack could feel it too. 

“Of course,” Jack said. “See you in the morning.” 

So, that was that. Jack wrapped his arms around Kent, pulling him in closer until they were plastered together, lying on their sides and facing each other. It felt good, so good it would have been perfect if it didn’t sear at Kent’s heart, hot and painful. He still felt at home, wherever he was, as long as Jack was right there. That was the truth.

“Good night,” Kent whispered. He could hear his own voice shaking, and Jack must have felt him trembling, or felt how fast his pulse was when they were all wrapped up in each other like this. In the light of the fire, Kent could see the lines of Jack’s face, perfect planes warped into something stranger, still beautiful, in the shadows. 

He could feel how his own face was falling apart, everything he wanted and loved about Jack written all over him for Jack to see. Could Jack tell? The fire coughed, sputtering for a moment, and the moving light made Jack’s eyes look like they were burning with more passion than they probably were.

“Good night,” Jack whispered back, and he smoothed a hand over Kent’s face, from his temple down to his jaw. His fingers curled there, possessive, and Kent could feel the pattering of Jack’s heart as he made his decision. 

They couldn’t kiss again. Kent might not actually survive it this time, and at the very least he needed Jack in his life as a friend. He swerved, away from Jack’s face and down so his head was resting on Jack’s chest like a pillow. “So, how long are we gonna keep this up before we stage some dramatic breakup?” he asked, shifting his legs a little. He was light-headed, shaking.

Jack went stony. He pulled away, and the sudden cold stealing over Kent’s body was about as tangible a way to feel Jack’s absence as he could get. “What the fuck, Parse?”

That was Jack all over. Making Kent feel special, like they actually had a chance together, and then talking to him like he was a piece of shit as soon as Kent said something Jack didn’t like. He was glad to get a reminder of this now, he told himself. Super glad. “What? I’m just saying, they’re gonna keep throwing us in situations like this if we don’t do something. We can’t do this forever.”

“We can break up tomorrow, then,” Jack snapped. “Do you want to be the dumper this time?”

Kent’s lungs stopped, for a second. He wanted to say something to rip Jack apart, but he had nothing. He kicked Jack instead, probably too hard, and he rolled over to face the other way. 

“You’re the one who brought it up,” Jack said, petulant like a kid, and Kent ignored him. He tried counting down from fifty. 

It didn’t work. “No.” His face hurt. “Why don’t you do it. I’d love to hear the bullshit reason you come up with this time.”

“Fuck you, Parse. This is why - “

Jack cut himself off, and Kent wondered where he’d been going. This is why I’d never date you in real life? This is why I can only take you in small doses? “Whatever. Don’t talk to me, I’m going to sleep.”

But that was easier said than done. Kent couldn’t sleep next to Jack when he was pissed at him, and he could tell that Jack was wide awake, too, because Jack had a super annoying foot jiggle whenever he got insomnia. 

The fire hissed, and burned lower and lower until it was gone. The room got colder, and Jack wiggled forward to steal Kent’s body heat without saying a word. 

It was after maybe an hour of bitchy silence that Kent finally turned around. He really couldn’t see Jack now, everything tar-black without the fire. “Do you think my cat misses me?”

Immediately, Jack’s body relaxed against him. Kent hadn’t even realized how tense Jack had been this whole time. “She’s a cat, Parse,” Jack said, but he sounded like he was smiling. 

“Yeah, but - “ Kent didn’t know what he was saying. He was tired, and he just wanted Jack to be the one who fixed things. “She needs me. Emotionally. You should see how she freaks out when I come home from hockey.”

“I did see, Kenny.” Because, yeah, Jack had stayed with him. “I’ll admit it, that was pretty cute.”

“Aw, Zimms, you thought I was cute?” Kent teased, and he was just starting to freak out over saying something so stupid when Jack picked up his hand and kissed it.

“Of course I did,” Jack said, and he kissed Kent’s hand again. “Of course, Kenny.”

Kent groaned. “I’m tired, Zimms, don’t mess with me - “

“I mean it,” Jack said, and this time when he kissed Kent, it was slow. Mouth searching and hot, hands smoothing over every inch of Kent’s body while Kent whined into it, too tired to even use tongue like a normal person, just opening his mouth for Jack.

“I mean it,” Jack said again. Kent had no idea how long it had been, but he was gasping for air, gasping to be closer to Jack anywhere he could. “I want to be with you. I want it to be real.”

“Yeah,” Kent said. It was probably too early to say I love you. He didn’t know what else to say. “Yeah.”

Jack touched his eyebrows, careful. “What do you want, Kenny?”

“Be with you,” Kent said, and he touched Jack’s stomach, under his shirt. He couldn’t do words right now. “C’mon, Zimms, now.”

“I want you,” Jack repeated. He found Kent’s hand, held on tight without pulling it away from his stomach. Kent could hear the smile in his words. “You’d better not just be in it for the sex, Kenny.”

“Jack,” Kent said. He felt everything. He didn’t even know all of what he felt, but it was happening. It was happening. “Do you -- if we do this, you’re not getting rid of me.” 

“That’s good,” Jack whispered, voice warm in Kent’s hair, and then his fingers were in Kent’s hair too, and they didn’t let go.


	9. sauced up, sauced up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Sauced Up by Fifth Harmony.

It snowed six inches overnight, and it was still snowing when they woke up. Ransom could barely get any reception on his phone, but after ten minutes of screwing around on his phone he saw that the northeastern U.S. had gotten about the same.

“Bro, call your team,” he said, handing Troy his phone and letting him read the weather report. “No way we can drive back down today, and the airport’s closed anyway.”

It took another twenty minutes to figure out how to get good enough reception to actually make the call, but it was kind of awesome to get another day here. Ransom, Holster, and Chowder started digging snow tunnels, but the snow was too heavy and kept collapsing.

“We tried,” Holster said, clasping Ransom’s hand. “No one could say we didn’t try.”

“Oh, look, they brought out the booze.” Chowder pointed at the cabin’s porch, and the tunnels were forgotten. 

They passed around a bottle of wine, bundled up and determined to be out in the snow. Jack and Parse were finally up, Ransom noted. Parse was wearing Jack’s ugly yellow winter hat, and it looked even worse on him than it did on Jack. 

Jack looked happy, Ransom thought. He hadn’t had much of a chance to ask Jack about the whole Parse thing, and he wasn’t sure how to approach it even if he did get the chance, but Jack seemed relaxed, wine in one hand and Parse snuggled up against him in the cold. 

Ransom liked it when his friends were happy, when things worked out for them. He thought it was pretty fucking cool that he was friends with an elite hockey player who was banging another elite hockey player, but with feelings and stuff. He didn’t really need to know more than that.

But, two bottles of wine later, he did learn more than that. 

He was in the main cabin’s kitchen, trying to make mixed drinks even though he couldn’t measure anything. Everything was funny, kind of slippery, and he knew he was drunk. “Hey, man,” he said to someone. It was Owens, when he looked closer.

“Hey,” Owens said, hugging Ransom around the shoulders from behind. “Hey, hey, hey. Can I tell you something? You’re pretty awesome.”

“Thanks, man.”

“No, I mean, can I tell you something? About Parser?”

Ransom put the tequila down. This had better not be anything that would fuck with Jack’s life. It sounded good, though, Owens didn’t seem like he’d say something bad. “Okay, yeah. Tell me.”

“It’s a secret. He’s in love with your friend. Zimmermann.”

Ransom burst out laughing. He was pretty sure he accidentally sprayed some spit in the drinks, but he turned the glass around the other way so it was probably fine. “Yeah, dude, they’re dating. Oh. In love?”

“No,” Owens said, shaking his head super hard. “No, no, no. I mean, like, it’s crazy. They’re not even together. They were trying to trick us, but we tricked them, so they think we don’t know they’re faking it but we totally know. But we’re gonna make them be together forever, like, in real life. Wanna help?”

Ransom slid one of the glasses over to Owens. He was pretty sure it had too much tequila in it, not enough pineapple juice, but it was shaping up to be that kind of evening. “I feel like you’re full of shit. Jack looks super dopey, did you see how he just stared into Parse’s eyes for like five minutes in a row earlier? Literally, Holtzy was saying the dude is so in love he might need an intervention.”

“We’ve been observing this relationship from day one,” Owens said. “I would bet my whole life that it’s fake. Don’t tell anyone.”

Ransom told Holster a few minutes later, because they were a package deal, and he never felt bad telling Holster something that was supposed to be secret. He told Lardo, Shitty, and Chowder after that, which was less excusable and was more about the tequila, but whatever. No one should tell Ransom a secret when he was drunk.

“I knew it,” Lardo said. Ransom hadn’t really believed it was true, but if Lardo believed it, that was all the convincing Ransom needed. “Something seemed weird right away with them.”

Ransom looked over at Jack and Parse now. They were dancing, drunk and a little too sexy, to some girly pop song Shitty had in his party playlist. He’d never really thought Jack would be the type of guy to get all gropey in front of other people, but his hands were all over Parse. “I’m getting them back together,” he declared. He was pretty sure all he’d need was twenty-four hours.

“Let them do that on their own,” Shitty said. Which was dumb. Where was the fun in that? 

“I’m doing it,” Ransom said, and Holster and Chowder shook hands with him. It was serious, until suddenly it was the most hilarious thing that had ever happened, and Ransom went over to grind on Jack’s leg. That was hilarious too.

Parse squeezed in between them. “Back off my man, Oluransi,” he said, laughing, and Ransom hugged them both. God, they were dumb. They needed him. 

“I’m going to help you,” he informed them, and he walked away before they could ask him why. They needed his help. No two people could have that much sexual and emotional chemistry and not act on it, it just wasn’t right.

The party went on past midnight, but Jack dropped off to sleep by eight. Parse curled around him on the couch, watching everyone else dance and laughing it off when his friends yelled at him to get up. “I’m good!” 

“He’s gonna be easy,” Holster whispered in Ransom’s ear, and Ransom totally agreed.

They slept in the next morning, hungover and grouchy. It took seven hours just to get to Edmundston, so they found a hotel and checked in for the night instead of continuing on to Maine.

“Airport’s open,” Benson informed them once they’d found their rooms. “But the game’s cancelled. You know what that means?”

“Party time!” Owens yelled, and it only took twenty minutes for them to completely raid the nearest liquor store. 

Ransom was totally planning on watering down his drinks this time, keeping his mind sharp so he could put his master plan into action. Instead, he got completely hammered.

“Holtzy, I’m drunk,” he groaned, later, into Holster’s bicep.

“Yeah. Whoops.”

Ransom stood up straight again, shook his head to clear it. “That’s okay. I’ve got this, I can still do it.”

He grabbed Jack and Parse, made sure they finished their drinks. “Come on, come on, we need fresh air.” Holster and Chowder were following. Perfect. “Fresh air, let’s go!”

So maybe Ransom was shitfaced now, but he’d been sober enough earlier to do a little local research. He led the way, three blocks over, until they were standing outside the right house.

“Ah,” he said. “Fresh air.” 

“Yeah, it’s fucking cold,” Parse said. He was shivering. 

Chowder poked Jack in the arm. “He’s cold, Jack.”

Jack tucked Parse’s hands into his coat. “Come on, Kenny, where are your gloves?”

“Um,” Parse said, and Ransom interrupted before this weird half-flirting could go on forever.

“Look!” he shouted. “It says they do marriage ceremonies, no appointment necessary!” 

Holster stared at him. “Who the fuck is getting married?”

“I dunno, do you know anyone in love?”

Parse lifted his hand. “We are. We’re in love.”

“Yeah? Where’s the ring?”

Jack was just, like, staring at Parse. Very serious. “You didn’t say you wanted to get married.”

“You didn’t either. And who says it’s my job to bring it up?”

Chowder cleared his throat. “Isn’t it the person who’s more in love who talks about marriage first? I thought that’s how it goes.”

 _You are perfect,_ Ransom mouthed at Chowder, who just grimaced back.

“I love you the most,” Parse blurted out. Ransom basically couldn’t have seen this going any better, even in his wildest dreams. Competitive motherfuckers. “Will you marry me?”

“You don’t love me the most, you’re drunk. Kent Parson - “ Jack went down on one knee, too hard. “Fuck, ow. Will you marry me?”

“Blah blah. Have I told you what kind of ring I want?”

Ransom cut in. “You can’t get married without a marriage license! Thank god the city hall’s just around the corner!” He checked his phone. “Shit, they close in, like, three minutes. Jack, run super fast and use your fame!”

Even though the optimistic haze of alcohol, he was pretty sure this was the type of plan that only sounded good because he was drunk. So he was more surprised than anybody when Jack came back half an hour later with an actual marriage license.

“That’s real?” Ransom asked. “They just let you have it?”

“I paid for it,” Jack said. “Like everyone else.”

Parse grabbed it. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes! I mean, I’m the one who asked you. Yes, you’ll marry me.”

“Oh my god, I can answer for myself, Zimms.” 

Ransom actually wasn’t drunk enough for this. “Okay, so let’s get you two married. Back to the crazy wedding house, go go go!”

“Go, Zimms!”

Holster grabbed Ransom’s arm. They watched Jack and Parse run ahead. “Dude,” Holster said. “I honestly really hope they become one of those couples who get too obsessed with each other and lose touch with everyone else, because after tonight I straight up don’t want to hang out with them again.”

“They’re in love,” Chowder said. He looked like he might be crying.

Ransom smacked him on the back of the head. “Snap out of it, man, they’re just drunk and stupid. But they totally will fall in love soon. Thanks to me.”

“Realistically, they’ll be getting an annulment soon,” Holster said. “And possibly not speaking to you.”

Ransom processed that for a minute. He remembered how weird Jack used to be about Parse, like even just the topic was radioactive. He remembered how different sober Jack was from drunk Jack. “Oh shit!” he said. “Oh shit, we have to stop them!”

It was too late. By the time Ransom got there, Jack and Parse were drinking hot chocolate with this badass hippie woman and admiring their cheap plastic rings. 

“What the fuck?” Ransom huffed, out of breath from running. Whatever, so he was out of shape. “Don’t you need a witness?”

“Her husband did it,” Parse said, pointing at the woman. 

“Nice guy,” Jack agreed.

Ransom’s life flashed before his eyes.

“Aw, we missed it!” Chowder yelled, coming in behind them. Holster was trailing behind, the woman’s husband behind him at the door. “Well, shit. Did you cry, Jack?”

“No, Parse did.”

“Congratulations to the happy couple,” Holster said drily.

Ransom groaned and put his head down on the kitchen table.


	10. they'll name a city after us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Us by Regina Spektor.

Kent didn’t fly out with the rest of his team. Their game was rescheduled for tomorrow, and Kent kept saying he had one free pass to skip practice.

“Just a personal day, Jack,” he said, and Jack pushed the side of his head away, light and teasing. 

Jack didn’t really buy the whole free pass, personal day thing, but he wasn’t complaining. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, to see what could possibly be coming his way to balance out the fact that Kent’s pillow was in Jack’s bed, that Kent had made coffee this morning and sat right on Jack’s lap, still sleepy and bleary-eyed. 

He was in one of Jack’s old Samwell t-shirts. Jack could look at that all day, and he touched the thin, worn fabric like it was part of Kent’s body while they kissed at the table. 

“What did you eat?” Jack asked, mumbling against Kent’s lips. “I taste something.”

Kent kissed him again, and Jack’s heart flipped. “Just eggs and salsa,” he said. “I left you some in the fridge if you want to heat it up.” 

Jack held onto Kent’s wrists, kissed him again. He needed to do everything now in case something happened. Something always happened with them. “That’s okay, Kenny, I’ll stick with my cereal. You can have - “ His fingers stopped on Kent’s ring. 

“Okay,” Kent said, getting up. He was doing a terrible job hiding the nervousness in his voice. “I’ll finish it off then. The eggs. You sure you don’t want - “

Jack reached out and hooked a finger around one of Kent’s. “Kenny,” he said. 

Kent deflated. “Okay.” He sat down again, this time in the chair next to Jack. “So that whole marriage thing.” 

And Jack really hadn’t wanted to talk about this. He didn’t want to hurt Kent’s feelings, or to expose his own. “That was really something, eh? Ransom sent me about twenty apology texts already.”

“Yeah.” Kent was twisting the ring, around and around and around. “So, was it even real? I mean, you know, legal? Are we married?”

“I can show you the license if you want. We’re married.”

Kent slid the ring off, then put it back on. “So, like -- what do you want to do? About it?” He wasn’t looking at Jack. This would all be easier if he would look at Jack.

Jack opened his mouth, ready to say he wanted to file for an annulment, he’d already looked into the process so Kent wouldn’t have to worry about it, but -- “Who says we have to do something about it?”

Kent looked up, eyes wide with surprise. Jack wanted him back on his lap, where his weight would calm Jack down. He was flying back to Vegas tonight. Jack wanted to make him stay. Things would be simple if he just stayed.

“It’d blow Ransom’s mind, anyway,” Jack said. He tried to laugh. “They finally think they’re onto us, and then we say we’re staying married. You want to?”

“Don’t do this for them, Jack.” Kent pushed back from the table and got up. He didn’t have anywhere to go, just paced next to the counter. Jack watched him. “I can’t be married to you just to prove a point to your friends.”

Jack looked back at Kent, and -- it wasn’t the right thing to do, not by a long shot, but he snorted. “We did, Kenny. Oh my god, I can’t believe we did that. We really just got married just to - “

“ - to prove a point to your friends, I know.” Kent stared back at him, and then he started laughing too. 

It was so cute. Kent was so cute. Jack didn’t know what to do about it, how to make this last.

“We don’t have to have a good reason just to do something,” he said, and he held his breath.

Kent scrubbed a hand over his face. “We never do.” 

Jack got up and made more coffee.

Last night, Kent had said he loved Jack, outside on an Edmundston sidewalk. He’d been drunk. They both had been drunk, but Jack remembered. He remembered that he didn’t say it back.

He didn’t say it now. 

“Are you okay with this?” he said instead. He realized, dimly, that Kent had never been in his kitchen before. He almost laughed again. Of course the first time Kent was in Jack’s new apartment was during what was technically their honeymoon. 

Kent watched him. “You know how I feel.” Jack’s breath got caught, somewhere in his stomach. “What about you, though? I know you don’t want to be married when it’s not forever. When it’s a joke. How can you be okay with this?”

Jack ran his fingers through his hair, nervous. He wanted to say something, but he was afraid. He had so much to say to Kent, always, and he never did. 

“Would have happened sooner or later,” he said at last, and he went to rummage through the fridge so Kent wouldn’t see how just that one sentence had him shaking. 

Kent was quiet. Jack didn’t turn around. He stared into his fridge without seeing anything.

Then Kent was standing next to him, tugging at Jack’s flannel. “Zimms,” he said, open in that way Jack could never be, and Jack shut the fridge so he could push Kent up against it, feel how Kent was shaking too.

“So it would have happened eventually?” Kent said when they finally broke apart, and Jack poked him in the ribs. “Ow, jeez. Your words, Zimms, not mine.”

“Whatever.” Jack rolled his eyes, and turned to grab his cereal box from the cupboard. He could feel a blush rising in his cheeks, and there wasn’t anything he could do to hide it. He elbowed Kent out of the way to get milk out of the fridge, and Kent elbowed him back. 

Kent didn’t join him at the table, just leaned on the counter across from him and watched. 

“Observing me for science, Kenny?” Jack finally asked through a mouthful of cereal.

Kent just smirked. “Thinking about how sweet it was when you cried at the wedding, Zimms.”

Jack didn’t remember that. Kent had been the one who’d cried, drunk and tracing over each of Jack’s fingers like he sometimes did when they were in bed together. It had been sweet. It had been nice, and another reason for Jack to wonder if he was going to be enough for Kent in the long run. 

“I didn’t cry,” he said. “You definitely did, though. Sniffles and everything.”

Kent flushed, but he waggled his eyebrows a little. He looked like an idiot, Jack thought fondly. “Whatever, Zimms, you totally cried. Just one perfect little tear, don’t lie.”

“I did not,” Jack laughed. “Why would I cry, Parse?”

Which was a stupid thing to say. He knew it was a stupid thing to say, but not until he’d already said it. 

Kent’s eyes tightened. “What the hell, Jack.” 

Jack didn’t know what he could say. He hadn’t cried, and Kent had. Kent had said he loved Jack, and Jack hadn’t. He couldn’t say it now anymore than he could yesterday, even though it was true. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, and he watched as the words had absolutely no effect on Kent.

Kent had his hands braced on the table. Jack looked there, away from his face, at the white stretch of his knuckles. “I think I need some space,” Kent finally said, and his hands released from the counter. 

“Come on, Kenny don’t do this.” Jack didn’t know why he was pushing, when Kent was ready for once to de-escalate things on his own. “Stay.”

“I said I need space from you,” Kent said, voice rough. He left the kitchen, started opening the door to the balcony. 

Jack clenched his jaw. “Take your jacket then.”

Kent ignored him. The door shut behind him.

“Kent!” Jack snapped, but he knew it was pointless. He finished his cereal, because he was hungry, and he put his bowl and spoon in the dishwasher. And then he was out of things to do. 

Jack sat back down at the table. The kitchen didn’t feel right without Kent, which was a bad sign, since Kent was leaving soon. But Jack missed him. He thought about Kent crying at their ridiculous wedding, about how he’d fallen asleep first that night. How Jack had watched him like that, how he’d smoothed out his hair.

He had more to offer Kent than standing out in the cold by himself, than leaving Kent alone with his feelings. 

Kent had his back to him when Jack eased open the door to the balcony. “Hey,” he said.

“Can I come out?”

Kent shrugged. 

Jack stepped out, pushing the door shut with his hip. It was beautiful, the snow accumulation easy to see as it rested on top of the balcony railings. He was glad he’d shoveled out here this morning, because Kent really was just in his socks. 

“I’m sorry,” Jack said quietly. He came up beside Kent, nudged him and handed over a mug of coffee. Kent accepted it and let Jack help him into his coat. He stepped into Jack’s extra pair of slippers, which were too big for him. Jack’s eyes caught there, on the extra inch of space behind Kent’s feet.

Kent shuffled in closer to him, stood shoulder to shoulder while he took a drink of coffee. They were quiet, and it was okay. They were just waiting, together.

“You scare me sometimes,” Kent said at last.

Jack knew that. He kind of knew that. He didn’t really know why, though, because he couldn’t see himself the way the Kent saw him. “What are you scared of?”

Kent pushed some of the snow off the railing. His fingers were red. “What you think about me.”

“Okay.” Jack sorted through every response he could think of. He had no idea what the right thing was to say, but Kent would see through that kind of bullshit in a heartbeat anyway, so he just said the truth. “I think different things about you every day, Kenny. But my feelings never change.”

Kent blew out a breath. It faded into the air around them after a few seconds. “And what are your feelings?”

“I wasn’t that drunk when I married you,” Jack said. His throat hurt. “Or when I said we should -- pretend. To be together. I knew what I was doing.”

“Then tell me.” 

Jack opened his mouth, but it just wouldn’t come. “I -- you know, I get scared sometimes too. It’s not just you.” 

Kent laughed, kind of dismissively, but he leaned in and pressed his forehead against Jack’s shoulder. “Yeah? Scared about me?”

“That you’ll get sick of me,” Jack admitted. He stole back the coffee mug and took a drink. He needed something to do with his mouth.

Kent reached out to take the mug back, let their fingers brush together by the handle. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see,” he said, and Jack snorted, pushed his shoulder a little bit.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he finally admitted, and Kent reached down to hold his hand.

They stayed there, shoulders touching. Passing the coffee mug back and forth. They were in this together, Jack thought, whatever this even was. But it was getting cold.

“Wanna do something in town before I have to fly out?” Kent asked, breaking the silence once the coffee was long gone. He looked up at Jack, just waiting. 

“No,” Jack said. “Let’s stay in.”

Kent smiled. He leaned in all slow, kissed Jack right on the side of his jaw, and stayed there for a moment. Just his nose was touching Jack, and it was freezing cold, and then it was gone. 

Jack watched Kent open the sliding door and go inside. 

This wasn’t going to be like Juniors. It wasn’t going to be like their in-between years, or when Jack had asked Kent to pretend with him. He didn’t know what it was going to be. 

Jack followed him in.

**Author's Note:**

> jackparse forever, byeeee


End file.
